


May's Golden Dragon

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, chinese restaurant au, good ole camraderie, questionable chinese mafia, relationships shift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: "Welcome to May's Golden Dragon, my name is Skye, I'll be your server today, yes, I speak Mandarin, and don't drink the tea while it's hot."In which Phil Coulson is on the hunt for the Next Great Restaurant, and everything goes downhill the moment he steps through the door. (Well, his unbiased opinion does, anyways.)





	1. Fried Rice

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I hope you do very much enjoy this Chinese restaurant AU - it's gonna be a wild ride for everyone. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine - except for the Mandarin. That's Google Translate, fam.

The glass pane of the door was streaked with aged grime as Phil Coulson reached out with a cautious hand, swinging it open with a single motion. He barely paid any notice to the small tinkling bells that let out a soft ring, and stepped in. _Wow. Ros wasn’t joking when she said it wasn’t like other Chinese restaurants._ For one, there wasn’t a shortage of dark corners. Not to mention the shady, hunched looking group in one of said dark corners.

And finally, there was the plume of smoke that was emitting from the back end of the kitchen. Phil was pretty sure that didn’t fall under standard operating procedure. He briefly wondered how they’d managed to escape inspection all these years before shaking his head and stepping up to the hulking man standing to his right.

“Uh, Phil Coulson?” The man said nothing, simply staring Phil down. Phil adjusted his glasses nervously - more force of habit than anything - before chancing another look up. “I - I’m from the SHIELD?  Uh. South Harlem International Eating Living Directory? I - I’m here to see -” He squinted down at his hand; unfortunately, with his having gotten lost three times on the way here, the name was smudged into an unintelligible blur. “Melissa Moy?”  

At least he got a crack out of the guy in front of him. “Melinda May’s our head chef and owner,” the man corrected, chuckling at Phil’s look of relief and embarrassment. _Melinda May._ Well, at least he was close. “Name’s Alphonso Mackenzie, but they call me Mack ‘round here.” His handshake nearly took Phil’s arm off, and he came away already planning a gym workout for the weekend. “Why don’t you grab a seat, and we’ll get one of the servers out here in a minute.”

Still somewhat shaken by the encounter, Phil took a seat at one of the nearby red cloth-covered table, doing a double take at the chopsticks on the table. Why, oh _why_ had he chosen to take this assignment? He could’ve stuck with the Portuguese cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. Or the new Italian place over on West 36th and Seventh. (At least they had gelato.) But no, he’d been in such a fit to impress Rosalind that he’d taken the riskiest assignment known to man like him - the Chinese restaurant buried deep into a back alley in Manhattan Chinatown.

“Whoa, you’re new.” A frazzled looking woman dashed out, skidding to a stop in front of the table with the teapot hanging from her arm. “Haven’t seen you around here before. Hey, Fitz!” she yelled to the kitchen. “We got fresh meat!”

Phil held his hand up. “Actually, I’m just from the South Harlem -” 

“ _And_ he’s from the papers!” The woman cocked her head, listening for a reply before her mouth stretched into a grin. “Excellent. Well, welcome to May’s Golden Dragon, I’m Skye, I’m your server today, yes, I can speak Mandarin, yes, this tea is hot, don’t try to drink it right after you pour it.” She plonked the teapot onto the tablecloth and poured him a cup of tea, the brownish liquid sending up a plume of steam into the air. “Drink,” she smirked, catching Phil’s hesitant look. “I promise it’s better than it looks.” Indeed. The tea was the right amount of bitter, but not so flavorful that it took over all of the tastebuds in his mouth. Phil hummed, putting the teacup down. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all.  

“Skye, right?” he asked the woman. She nodded. “Can I get a menu?”

The smirk returned. “Don’t worry, sir, we have a...special menu for the fresh meat that walk through the doors.” Skye whipped out a notepad. “Now. Any allergies, severe dislikes, things that might make you projectile vomit across the room?” Phil shook his head hurriedly, and Skye scribbled ‘FEED EVERYTHING’ before stuffing the notepad into the back pocket of her jeans. “And what’s your name?” 

Phil gave her a weird look. “Why would you need to know my name?”

“I make it a point to get to know my customers,” Skye fake drawled, looking offended. “Do that, and they tip higher.” She grinned. “Plus, if you’re going to be my new dad, I have to at least know your name.”

The promise of a date with Rosalind was all that kept Phil from hightailing it right out of the restaurant right then and there.

“I’m kidding!” Skye laughed, and the tight ball of tension in Phil’s chest loosened just a little. A little. He wasn’t sure if Skye was deranged, determined, or both. “We need your name for the ticket. Aren’t really any table numbers around here. And like I said, you’re the fresh meat.” She refilled his teacup without spilling a drop. “Soon, you’ll be a regular. I _always_ know the names of my regulars. So. Your name?”

“Phil? Phil. Phil Coulson. I’m Phil Coulson.” 

Skye laughed and dashed off. “Nice to meet you, Phil Coulson! Your food should be out soon!”

* * *

 “Fresh meat, huh?”

Bobbi Morse edged past Skye with a tray supporter tucked under her arm, the other brunette already balancing a tray laden with dishes on both hands. It’d been a while since she’d seen fresh meat, and having come from fresh meat herself, she was plenty aware how the May family ran things. She just hoped this one wouldn’t run off before they got to the fried pig intestines.

“Yeah, this one looks a keeper,” Skye said breezily as she began to set the plates onto the table in the corner, including a large bowl of egg drop soup into the center surrounded by several smaller bowls and a ladle. Fresh murmurs of approval went up from around its occupants. “He didn’t even run when I pulled the dad line. Most single guys run at the dad line.”

Bobbi chuckled, leaning over to ladle the soup from the large central bowl to the smaller ones. “Which one is it again? Dude in the middle table? What, didn’t want to put him too close to Mack?” She stopped for a minute and straightened up, the prickly familiar feeling of a leery stare at her chest beginning to set in. Most of the seedy Asian men at the table had the grace to stare down at the starched white tablecloth when she glared up at them, pausing momentarily from her ladling.

All except one. Well, at least it was the same guy from last week. And the week before that, and the week before that. Honestly, who _else_ had she been expecting? Bobbi sighed, sending her own frosty glare right back.

 _“_ _Tíngzhǐ dīngzhe tā de xiōngbù, Yáng,”_ Skye deadpanned without even looking up. The man, caught, muttered a ‘pssh’ and turned back to his conversation with the man next to him. “Honestly, does he not know they’re fake?” she wondered out loud, earning a smack on the shoulder from Bobbi. “Hey, watch it, Morse. You know how the Chinese mafia gets when we mess up their food.”

“Oh, please,” Bobbi shot back, smiling sunnily at said mafia members before picking up the tray table and sauntering to the kitchen. “They can’t get upset at me. I have boobs _and_ an ass. I’m still waiting for the day they bring their mothers in and they try to matchmake me with their grandsons.”

They entered the kitchen, Skye dropping off her now-empty tray before leaning against the counter to wipe the sweat off her face. “Hey, Fitz, how we doing with the fresh meat intro?”

“I wish you’d stop callin’ it fresh meat, Skye,” Leo Fitz emerged from a fresh billow of steam, red-faced and sweating. “Makes it sound like they’re prey or somethin’.” He handed her a plate of fried rice, hot off the wok. “Took down the spice, just like you said.” When Bobbi gave him a look, he threw his hands up in protest. “I mean it! ‘S nothing like Garner!” 

“Fitz, he was drooling. On the _carpet_ .” Needless to say, that attempt at matchmaking had _not_ gone well. “You know how May hates it when people drool on the carpet.” Skye sniffed the plate just in case she needed to warn Phil. “And I like this one. Try not to scare him off with your spiciness.”

“Way more than a Scot should have,” Bobbi mumbled under her breath.

Fitz rolled his eyes at her. “Fine. No spicy ribs for you tonight, Morse.”

Skye just laughed and headed out of the kitchen at Bobbi’s petulant whine, their argument fading out of earshot to the sounds of fresh vegetables hitting hot oil. The kitchen door swung open just in time for her to see one of two things.

First, the array of plates they’d just set down at the Chinese mafia’s table were now all over the floor, some shattered and others flung aside. A full-blown brawl had broken out among the men, and from what Skye could pick up, someone’d questioned the quality of the knockoff handbags being brought to a deal...again. She winced as she heard a bone crack, wondering if she should put down her plate of fried rice and call an ambulance.

But when the man who’d presumably had his arm broken reached out and socked his attacker right in the jaw, she decided he’d be alright. Hm. She wondered who’d bet on him landing the worst injury this week. Mack always had a knack for betting on the underdogs, and it’d served him well time and time again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a horrified Phil Coulson edge towards the door, clearly trying to make it out of the situation unscathed. Skye wanted to call out and stop him - after all, he hadn’t even had a chance to try their fried rice! - but doing so would’ve drawn the mafia’s attention to the fact that there’d been a foreigner in their territory.

And if there was something they hated more than oversalted soup, it was foreigners in their territory.

She nodded at Mack, who waited before the small bell’s tinkling went silent before he waded over to the fight, pulling apart the Chinese men easily. He didn’t even flinch when one of them landed a tricky hit to his leg, just held on with a blank facial expression until the man stopped flailing. The other security guards did the same, their stance clearly infused with the weariness of men who’d done this way too many times in their lives.

  _“Gàosù wǒ nǐ méiyǒu yìyì, bùyào mìnglìng shāyú tāng.”_ At the sound of that low, almost growled voice, the men went silent, straightening up in almost a comical fashion. Skye and Mack even stood to attention, the former hastily setting the fried rice onto a nearby table.

If there was anyone at all the Chinese mafia had to fear, it was the woman that allowed them to do their business. And it was safe to say Melinda Qiaolian May wasn’t looking too satisfied with their behavior.  

(At least to the men. Skye had the pleasure of knowing that as soon as they left the premises each time, May would round up the untarnished food and send Skye out to feed the homeless. Frightening, her ass.)

 _“_ _Qiào liǎn,”_ One of the elder members, goatee and sideburns tinged with gray, bowed his head. _“_ _Yīxiē màoyì de xìjié bèi rènwéi shì bù mǎnyì de.”_ Behind them, Skye resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Talk about overkill.

 _“Zhè shì shénme, zhège yuè dì wǔ cì? Wǒ bù xīwàng nǐmen de qīzi duìfù nǐ suǒ fù de qián ér gǎndào gāoxìng.”_ May, ever so cool, quirked an eyebrow at the men, who looked even more ashamed than when Bobbi’d caught Yang staring at her chest.

‘Fifth?’ Skye mouthed to Mack, who nodded. Damn. She’d probably missed a brawl or two while she’d been studying for the last couple of weeks. Waiting tables was fun, sure, but that diploma wasn’t going to earn itself.

 _“Gěi wǒmen zhàngdān.”_ May gave him a sharp, curt nod, and with a single hand motion, all of the mafia members were filing out of the restaurant. Some of them, Skye noted with glee, had sauce all over their pants. Oh boy. That was going to be a fun one to get clean. When the last man had departed, May sighed, her eyes flicking over the damage.

“What do we say, May?” Mack asked, rubbing his hands together. “$100? $150?” A sharp _crack_ alerted them to the fact that the glass Lazy Susan had split right down the middle. “$200?”

May snorted. “Are you kidding me? I had that thing imported. That’s at least $300 right there. Tell Morse she wins.” Bobbi’s cheer could be heard from the kitchen as May’s glance switched over to the now cold plate of fried rice. “Who was that for, Skye?”

“Oh!” Skye snatched up the plate of fried rice. “We had fresh meat today. Guy by the name of Phil Coulson. Said he worked for some paper named The SHIELD?” When May’s eyebrows went up, she sighed. “He ran when he saw the fight break out between the mafia dudes.”

Well, at least there’d be a homeless man getting a fresh container of fried rice today.

* * *

  _“What do you mean, you ran when you saw the mafia fight break out?”_

Rosalind Price only paced when she was agitated. _Very_ agitated. And at this moment, she was ready to wear a hole in her carpet. If Phil Coulson hadn’t been one of her best, she’d have him clearing out his desk yesterday. (That, and he was marginally cute. Marginally. In a way one would look at a golden retriever.)

Phil tried to raise his hand meekly in defense. “Ms. Price, it seemed like a situation best handled by the restaurant without any extra witnesses...”

Rosalind sighed. He had a point. An annoying one, but a point nonetheless. “Did you at least get any food?”

Phil gulped, thinking of the spread Skye’d said had been laid out for him. “...No?”

Her head snapped up to give him a steely glare. “Get out of my office, Coulson. And don’t come back until you’ve managed to sit through a whole meal at May’s. I don’t care whether it’s sixteen courses long or if a mafia gets beat up three inches from your face. Get me. That. Review. Dismissed.” Coulson ran out of her office faster than he’d fled the scene of May’s.

* * *

 

**_Tíngzhǐ dīngzhe tā de xiōngbù, Yáng -_ stop staring at her boobs, Yang.**

**_Gàosù wǒ nǐ méiyǒu yìyì, bùyào mìnglìng shāyú tāng. -_ Tell me you had the sense not to order the shark fin soup.**

**_Yīxiē màoyì de xìjié bèi rènwéi shì bù mǎnyì de -_ The specifics of a trade were deemed...unsatisfactory by some.**

**_Zhè shì shénme, zhège yuè dì wǔ cì? Wǒ bù xīwàng nǐmen de qīzi duìfù nǐ suǒ fù de qián ér gǎndào gāoxìng -_ This makes...what, the fifth time this month? I don't expect your wives are happy with the money you're paying for damages.**

**_Gěi wǒmen zhàngdān -_ send us the bill. **


	2. Char Siu Bao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil makes a return, Fitz is a disappointment to gamblers everywhere, and Piper desperately needs to return to karting school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month, y'all. I know we're already ten days in, but...hopefully you'll see why.

Bobbi simultaneously loved and hated Sunday mornings.  

She hated them because Sunday mornings meant she was up at the crack of dawn (or whenever May decided to bang on their doors, which sometimes meant it was before the sun had even _thought_ of showing its face) to prepare for the Sunday dim sum rush. It meant weaving through narrowly placed tables with clumsy, metal carts and hoping she didn’t knock anyone’s teapot over. It also meant dealing with scalding hot, steaming dishes for five hours straight, and yelling out the names of the same dim sum food over and over again. Not to mention all of the gawks of the sure newcomers that week (there always were some) at her hair and _very_ American blue eyes.

_“Did her parents really let her dye her hair like that?”_

_“What kind of good parents let her get blue contacts?”_  

 _“No wonder the Wongs never let their adopted daughter see the light of day. Thinks she’s a white girl.”_ (Fun fact: Bobbi had indeed met said Wongs one night, in an odd twist of fate and desperate take-out orders. They had _not_ been happy with what their neighbors had been saying about them. The mentioned adopted daughter, Jade, went to boarding school. It made a lot of sense, really.)

But the one thing she liked about Sunday mornings? 

 _CLUNK._ “Three points for me!”

“Oh, come on, Skye, you jus’ barely touched the edge of me cart!” _CLUNK._ “Bloody hell, Mack, not you, too!”

 _CLUNK. CLUNK. BANG._ “Sideswipe!” Bobbi grinned to herself. “Ten points for me!” Dim sum bumper carts. It was a tradition, really, for the staff to spend their Sunday morning rush distributing their food via bumper cars. They never failed to entertain their patrons, who often took bets on who would come out on top and even sent their children sometimes to disrupt a cart’s path if they were feeling particularly vindictive.

May pretended not to notice the dents in the side of the carts at the end of each weekend. (They all knew she favored Skye’s odds, though. It made sense - Skye was her adopted daughter, after all.) Sometimes, she joined in when the flow got heavy, giving a whole new sentiment to the terms ‘Asian driving’.

“Sh - ah!” Bobbi yanked her cart back as a small child in a blue sweatshirt dashed across her path, laughing. She turned to see where the distraction had come from, catching one of the mother’s eyes from the other side of the restaurant. Bobbi sent her the ‘I’m watching you’ sign - Skye’s influence unfortunately reached _much_ further than the rest of theirs. It was probably because she looked Chinese. 

 _“Char siu bao!”_ The call came from the other end of the restaurant, and Bobbi barrelled toward it, managing to not only smash the corner of Mack’s cart, but nearly t-boned Fitz and rear-ended Piper, another server. The curses flew at her when she skidded to a stop in front of the table, a bright smile on her face throughout the entire order and distribution. _Another stamp, another two bucks to my paycheck._

“YOU SUCK, MORSE!” came the shout from across the restaurant, and Bobbi didn’t even have to look to know it was Skye, sending up her middle finger in response while still managing to hand over her pork buns to the table in front of her. “OI, LANGUAGE!”

“Oh, please,” Bobbi yelled over the din of chatter and pans. “Which one of us was the one who could recite a whole page of swears by the time they were eight years old?” Skye collided with her cart in retaliation the next time they crossed paths.

All of a sudden, Piper flew out of nowhere, nearly upending Bobbi’s cart and almost colliding with a table of elderly women. “RECKLESS CARTING,” they heard someone yell from the kitchen. “MINUS SEVEN.” Everyone stopped to update their charts before hustling around the dining room once more. 

In the haste of all of their competition, none of them noticed Phil Coulson step into the restaurant almost as quietly as he had the day before. Since Mack hadn’t been there to greet the easily-flustered newsman, he stood there for quite a while, gaping at how organization could exist in such chaos.

Piper saw him first. “INCOMING!” she screeched, letting her cart run amok. Phil barely managed to get out of its way before it hurtled in front of him, seconds where he’d been standing before. The cart collided with a mighty crash with Bobbi’s, the chicken feet inside managing to not spill a single drop of sauce. “I am _so_ sorry, sir,” she apologized, hurrying past him and collecting her cart. “I didn’t see you until I was letting the cart fly, are you okay - ?” She was going to get fired for _sure_ , she reckoned.

“Knew you needed more cart’s ed before we put you out there, Pipes, May would’ve killed you if you’d managed to hurt - hey, Phil!” Skye grinned, holding her hand up for a high-five. Phil met it weakly, clearly still traumatized from his near-death experience. “And the fresh meat is back. See? Told you you’d make it back!” Phil mumbled something about his boss forcing him there, but Skye was having none of it. “Welcome to our dim sum day! Let’s get you a seat, and we’ll give you the fresh meat intro on that too!” When he didn’t move an inch, she let out a dramatic sigh, tugging his arm. “Come on, old man. We promise no one’s gonna start a mafia fight.” When Phil still didn’t move, she nearly yanked at him. “I’m serious. It’s the middle of the day. No one’s going to start throwing food or crack any dishes.”

“Mm, I can’t guarantee the food,” Bobbi remarked offhandedly. “Depends on how fresh you get with me, May.” She paused. “That sounds _really_ weird. It’s like I’m challenging my mom, but I’m also challenging my boss, but I’m challenging neither

“The mafia’s tonight, actually,” Fitz chimed in helpfully (or unhelpfully, depending on the view). “No one comes here during the dim sum hours except for large families.” He shuddered. “They like to pinch my cheeks and tell me how cute I am ‘cause they think I can’t understand ‘em. Surprised ‘m not married yet.” Skye seemed to take that as a confirmation, and took Phil’s elbow, frog marching him to a small table next to the window. The rest of the crew followed, already spreading out for the initiation ritual. 

Bobbi just hoped Phil knew what he was in for.

 _“Zhùyì dàjiā!”_ Skye stood on the other chair, clapping loudly. The crowd went silent, everyone turning to see what the fuss was about. Below, Bobbi could just catch Phil’s face, redder than the tomatoes Fitz insisted on bringing in from his mother’s garden in the fall. _“Wǒmen zài zhèlǐ dédàole yīxiē xīnxiān de ròu, tā de míngzì jiào Phil Coulson. Gěi tā yīgè wǔ yuè de jīnlóng huānyíng!”_ With that, the entire crowd burst into applause, a lot of the children letting out loud shouts of approval. Phil, to his credit, took the attention with grace, waving to the crowd with lots of nods and butchered ‘ _xie xie_ ’s. Well. At least he knew something.  

As the regular babble of the crowd resumed, Skye hopped down from the chair. “So how dim sum works is that one of us -” she gestured to herself, Bobbi, Mack, Piper, Fitz and the other servers, “-go around with our carts and shout out whatever foods we’ve got in there, and if you want one, you shout it out, and we’ll give you a platter. Then, you’ll hand over this -” She held up a gridded paper, much like a check. “And we’ll stamp it so they know how much you’ll have to pay. Now, since you’re fresh meat -” Everyone winced. “ - you don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ll keep it relatively tame. See you later, Phil Coulson!” Everyone watched in silence as she dashed around the restaurant, calling out the names of food once again.

“What’s that, Mrs. Guo?” Mack bent down to one of the nearby tables. “Oh.” He looked up at the rest of them. “She’s apparently got $10 riding on Piper to win this weekend and Fitz is currently at the top.”

Piper dashed off. “I won’t let you down, Mrs. Guo!”

* * *

 “Hey, Skye,” Mack caught up to her a few minutes later, once the hubbub around Phil Coulson had died down. She still couldn’t believe she’d had to tell them that he wasn’t a health inspector coming around to shut them down (which, speaking of that, they were probably due for a visit soon) and was just a curious soul. After all, there weren’t that many curious souls in the land of dim sum. 

“What’s up, Mack?” she asked, double checking her towel, sauce and tongs before starting on a path to the kitchen. Mack fell into step with her, their carts creaking in unison. “Fitz getting too down again? Do we need to set him up again? Because this time, I’m picking. You picked Ophelia last time and she turned out to be a dramatic bitch that couldn’t handle spice.”

“Ouch, but not what I wanted to talk about.” Skye turned the cart into the kitchen, a sign for Mack to keep on talking. “Your man Coulson came in here yesterday looking to get an interview with May. Your mom May.” Mack pulled back hastily when Skye stopped with an abrupt lurch, nearly causing the entire cart to spill over. “Hey, warn a man before you do that, May.”

But Skye’s mind was already whirring. Phil looked to be a single man, right? She racked her brain, trying to determine if she’d seen a wedding ring on his finger the first day she’d served him. _There wasn’t one. I’m sure of it. He’s definitely single. Otherwise he would’ve brought his girlfriend here or something, right?_ He looked about the same age as May, if not a few years younger. Skye’s head began bobbing. _Yes. She could do this. It’d be perfect._

“May?”

“Phil and mom,” Skye’d already moved onto the dreamy-eyed stage. “Just think about it, Mack,” she said excitedly. “They’d be so cute together!”

Oh, no. Mack remembered the last time Skye’d gotten herself into one of these plots, and it’d ended with a psychology professor from Columbia drooling into their carpets. May had _not been happy._ “Skye, no. Remember what happened the last time you tried to set your mom up?”

Skye huffed, rolling her eyes as she sent her cart rolling towards the dishwashers with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Okay, but it’s not _like_ that this time, Mack. Phil’s...different from Garner. Less stuffy. More nervous. He’s almost cute.” At that, she made a face. “If going for older guys was my thing. Which it’s _totally_ not.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Skye,” Bobbi’s voice rang from the doors of the kitchen. “Guys _much_ older than you you wouldn’t do. I see the way you’re eyeing Grant Ward whenever he’s on the football field.” She and Mack exchanged high-fives while Skye scowled at them both, fiddling with her ponytail to hide her blush.

“He looks at you, too, Bob,” she muttered. “Why have plain, old, boring Skye when he could have her gorgeous, Amazonian goddess of a sister?” Before she could react, Bobbi was by her side, tipping her chin up with two fingers.

“Hey. Look at me.” When Skye still didn’t look up, the blonde jostled her chin slightly. “Skye. Look at me.” Brown eyes finally met blue ones, automatically dipping back down to stare at the ground. “You are gorgeous just the way you are, okay? Just because you’re not as tall doesn’t mean you’re not as stunning.”

Skye stood there, frozen, until Bobbi pulled her in for a hug. _Hugs. Yes. Hugs. This I can do._ Stiffly, she wrapped her arms around her adoptive sister, trying not to relax but ultimately failing. “There, there,” Bobbi patted her head. “Forget I ever said anything, hm?” She turned to Mack. “What were you saying about Phil Coulson wanting an interview with May?”

“First thing he looked for when he got in here,” Mack said, delighted the attention had been shifted. “Skye was thinking they’d matchmake well. Someone’s got to ask her to do the interview.” The atmosphere quickly shifted from comforting to terrifying - May’s reluctance at doing interviews stemmed (rightfully) from a memorable incident which’d resulted in Mack needing to taser the reporter.

“NOSIES!” The exclamation echoed throughout the kitchen, and everyone, from the chefs to the servers, slapped their hand onto their nose. Food could burn, it was easy to replace - but being permanently scarred from having to ask May to do an interview was much more costly. Bobbi, who’d still been in ‘comfort Skye’ mode, was last, groaning when the entire kitchen burst into cackles.

Skye gave her a quick hand squeeze before grinning. “Well, good luck, Morse. You’re gonna need it.” She regretted the squeeze as soon as she did it, yanking her hand back as if it’d been burned. _Stupid. Stupid, Skye. Stupidest decision ever._ All of the kitchen chimed in their various condolences as Bobbi made her way to the office, shoulders slumped. “I can feel you staring at me, Alphonso,” she bit out resignedly. “Say it.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Mack said innocently. “Sisterly support, is all.” It just made Skye sigh even heavier, groaning. “Like I said, my door’s always open if you want to talk. You haven’t seen Hope in a while, either.” Skye just shook her head. “She misses you, you know.”

But the younger May was already squaring her shoulders, preparing to go back to work. Bobbi was her sister. That was it. _Just_ her sister.

* * *

 Bobbi exhaled, her fist raised before rapping against her mother’s office door once, twice, three times. _Now or never._ “Mom?”

_“No, you can’t have next weekend off, I wrote your recommendation letter two weeks ago, and yes, I know Mrs. Guo needs Piper to win. The super glue’s in Mack’s cart.”_

Bobbi groaned. Dammit. She’d really wanted next weekend off to hang out at the Coney Island carnival. She hadn’t flirted with a guy in weeks. _Weeks._ For all she knew, the old crowd could’ve been completely replaced with a cuter batch. Scratch that. It probably had been. “As much as I’m ready to beg for next weekend, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

Silence. It meant she wasn’t dead yet, right?

_“Spit it out, Morse.”_

“There’s a reporter out front. His name’s Phil Coulson, and he wants to do an interview with you.” There. She’d said. Bobbi squeezed her eyes shut and waited, praying to whatever was up there that she was smote quickly and painlessly.

 _“You do remember what happened the last time I had an interview with a reporter, right?”_  

“We all do, Mom.” Honestly, it was the stuff of restaurant legend - she and Skye used it as a hazing initiation story. (Speaking of Skye, apparently another self-care day was in order. She was falling too far into the depths of self-deprecation again.) “Mack still won’t let me touch the taser he used.”

_“Exactly. Who put you up to this?”_

“Skye. And Mom, I think we have to bring her up again. She’s slipping.” When a large sigh emanated from the other side of the door, Bobbi knew victory was in sight. “Have the interview, please? If not for the good of the Golden Dragon, then for Skye. She was so excited about seeing - about seeing the restaurant finally get some press.” _Yeah. Not seeing them get together, Morse. Sometimes, you make bigger mistakes than the Chinese mafia staring at your boobs._ “Please?”

Another large sigh. Bobbi reckoned May was probably rubbing her temples in exasperation. _“Fine,”_ came the long-awaited answer. “But he makes so much as _one_ wrong move towards me -”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom. We’ll have Mack on standby.” There was a loud _CRASH_ , some shouts, and the clang of metal. “I’d better get back out there.” Then, with one final look at the door: “I’ll get you when it’s time for the interview?”

 _“Come and get me when he’s ready. I suppose I’ll be eating with him, too?”_ Bobbi nodded silently, but even through a closed door, May understood. _“Of course. I’ll make sure to tone up my accent._

* * *

 _“Wúxiàn jiàshǐ, qī hào xiàjiàng_ ,” one of the waiters was yelling to the crowd, various tables groaning loudly as their bets were lost. Piper just sighed sadly as she was led away in fake handcuffs to the kitchen. “ _Ér diǎnxīn yǐjīng jiéshùle, suǒyǐ nǐ zhīdào zhè shì shénme yìsi!”_

The entire restaurant went silent as the waiters walked around the dim sum carts, inspecting the damage and wear. Skye herself was on the edge of her toes, waiting to see if the superglue she’d put into Mack’s cart had worked.

_“LEO FITZ!”_

“That’s the third week in a row,” she heard Bobbi complain loudly, as Fitz went all red and was awarded a towering trophy consisting of take-out boxes cobbled together five minutes before. “Someone’s rigged his cart, I swear.”

“Next week, you and me are switching carts, Turbo,” Mack threatened, and Fitz just rolled her eyes. As customers streamed out of the restaurant, the little gang managed to catch sight of Coulson and May, chatting stiffly at their table by the window. It was a bit of a sad sight, to be honest - their interactions needed a push to get them going.

And Skye knew just the push.

“I’ll take the _har gow._ Bobs, you take the _cheong fun._ Mack, you take the congee. Piper!” Skye waited until she heard an affirmative. “Can you cart the _pai gwut_ and the _bao_ ? Fitz, make me the best _ngau pak yip_ you can get.” She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zhùyì dàjiā! - Attention, everybody!
> 
> Wǒmen zài zhèlǐ dédàole yīxiē xīnxiān de ròu, tā de míngzì jiào Phil Coulson. Gěi tā yīgè wǔ yuè de jīnlóng huānyíng! - We got some fresh meat here, his name is Phil Coulson. Give him a May's Golden Dragon welcome!
> 
> Wúxiàn jiàshǐ, qī hào xiàjiàng - Reckless carting, minus seven.
> 
> Ér diǎnxīn yǐjīng jiéshùle, suǒyǐ nǐ zhīdào zhè shì shénme yìsi! - And dim sum is over, so you know what means!


	3. Har Gow, Siu Mai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil spills tea, Bobbi spills more about her life, and May needs a lot of paperwork.

When Phil Coulson had walked into May’s Golden Dragon two days ago, he’d expected some serious Chinese decorations with an equally Chinese staff. Perhaps some questionable foods that he’d look twice at. He would’ve done it all, of course. Roz was counting on him, in that way only she could. 

But here he was, two days later, already fresh off of an encounter with the Chinese mafia (which he hadn’t even known existed until then), and sitting next to a window after nearly getting run over by a dim sum cart. 

Did dim sum even exist? Had this been some elaborate plot by the restaurant to make him write a good review? After all, he imagined reviewers didn’t come around much, what with the whole Chinese mafia situation. Yet, despite that, May’s managed to bring in a decent amount of customers - enough that it’d caught Roz’s attention. And not much caught her attention these days, apart from critics directed at her and men vying for her attention. 

(Phil Coulson was very much not one of those.  _ No,  _ sir.)

“Last time you came in, I think you were looking for our head chef and owner?” Phil, lost in his own thoughts, looked up to see Mack, the man he’d met yesterday, standing next to his table with his cart. “I’ve told her about your...return after the series of unfortunate events last time.” He smiled comfortingly. “She’s more than willing to sit with you and walk you through the dishes we offer today.”

“Oh.” Phil was taken aback. Melinda May, he’d been told, was extremely hard to get ahold of and a force to be reckoned with once faced.  _ ‘If you get an interview with her, you’d better damn well do it right,’  _ Roz had said when he’d gotten the assignment.  _ ‘No stupid jokes or puppy faces, Coulson.’ _ (He’d been a little offended at that. His jokes weren’t  _ that  _ stupid, were they? And he by no means made  _ puppy faces _ . No, she’d definitely meant it as a joke.)

That settled it. He was going to be the best damn reporter Melinda May had ever had the opportunity to be interviewed by in her entire life. He was going to ask all of the right questions. Play to her strengths. Make it more of a conversation between two friends. Rosalind Price was going to get the ultimate scoop, and she’d be so bowled over she’d  _ have  _ to have dinner with him. More than once, if he was lucky.

“Phil Coulson?”

Phil jumped, accidentally knocking his cup of tea over. The brown liquid spread across the stark white tablecloth like wildfire before it’d even registered in his mind what he’d done, and once it had, he jumped into action, scrambling for the cotton candy pink cloth on the side of the table. “Oh, no no no no no no  _ no _ ,” he muttered, trying to dab at the stain. How was he supposed to conduct an even barely acceptable interview with Melinda May with a stained tablecloth? This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. 

A gentle hand reached past his arm and righted the small, concave teacup, putting a hand on his arm to steady it. “What’s done is done. Happens all the time, if you can believe it.” 

“R-right. Y-yes, of course,” Straightening his glasses, Phil stood, extending his hand with a winning smile. He shook hands with his savior - a petite Asian woman, with stern but soft features - if he looked hard and long enough, perhaps he’d be able to find some presence of mirth behind her guarded, brown eyes. Something about her presence made him feel at ease...although it was most likely just his embarrassment talking. “Thank you. I’m not sure how much more I would’ve spilled if you hadn’t saved me.” 

A small smile broke the stern features, and Phil did a little internal fist pump. He had the feeling she didn’t smile a lot. “Of course. Now, Mack sent me over here because you’re a newbie at dim sum?” 

Phil dropped her hand, his stomach dropping at about the same speed. “You’re - oh my god, you’re - you’re Melinda May. Ms. May.” Certain his face couldn’t get any redder, he just settled for covering his face with his hands. “I just spilled tea all over your tablecloth. The tablecloth I was supposed to interview you on. Oh my god.” He was doomed. Any second now, she was going to give him an annoyed sigh and a glare and walk off, because clearly he wasn’t a good use of her time and he was never going to get the scoop and get that date with Roz and oh  _ god,  _ he was doomed. 

“Phil, hi!” Out of nowhere, Piper appeared with a fresh tablecloth. “May,” she continued, dipping her head slightly. “New tablecloth, guys?” Phil could feel the heavens opening up once more. He had a chance. Some karmic instance had gone his way.

To his surprise, May started taking the settings and piling them into her arms while Piper exchanged the tablecloth, only setting the table once the corners had been smoothed and settled. “So,” she said once they were both seated once more (Phil was still silently thanking every deity he knew in his head). “What questions do you have for me?”

_ Questions.  _ Right. Phil fumbled for a list of questions he swore he’d grabbed before he’d left that morning. May simply looked slightly amused as he uncrumpled the paper, swearing under his breath. “Stupid list...right, where was I?” He looked up, a bright look on his face. “How’d you come by...well, your restaurant? How’d you come by the Golden Dragon?” With any hopes of salvaging what was left of his interview (and his dignity), Phil gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. 

“It was handed down to me by my parents,” When he bent down to scribble the answer furiously on his notepad, Skye came by with the first cart, sending her adoptive mom an exaggerated wink before clearing her throat. 

“For your first forage,  _ har gow  _ and  _ siu mai _ ,” she declared. “The  _ har gow  _ is just shrimp, maybe some ginger, depending how Fitz is feeling that day -” She stopped when she caught May’s look. “Right. Sorry. Shrimp. Just shrimp, wrapped in a wrapper made of tapioca and wheat starch. And steamed.” She stared at the multitude of steamed platters before picking one up with her tongs and depositing it onto the table. “And your  _ siu mai,  _ which is pork and shrimp mixed together and wrapped around vertically with a wonton skin.” Phil stared at it for a while before Skye whispered dramatically, “Phil. The ticket.” 

“Ticket. Right.” Just like that, his face had flamed up again. At least he hadn’t spilled the tea. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks, Phil,” Skye chirped. “I knew it was a good idea learning your name the first time. Welcome to May’s!” Her cart rattled off, most likely to go sideswipe someone else’s. It left both Phil and May staring at the little dumplings in silence, neither of them wanting to go first. 

“So, Skye’s quite a character,” It was all the invitation May needed, it seemed, for she picked up her chopsticks and dug into a  _ har gow _ . “She seems to breathe soul into the restaurant, really. Treats every customer in here like they’re family.” 

“That’s because to her, they  _ are  _ her family,” Phil decided it’d just be easier to activate his voice recorder at this point. As long as it didn’t pick up the sounds of him chewing. “Skye was put into the foster system at a very young age. How young, she hasn’t told me, but I have the feeling it was very close to her birth.” 

“That’s terrible,” Damn, but this  _ har gow  _ was  _ good.  _ Skye had been right - Fitz, whoever he was, had been feeling particularly herbal that day, and little pops of ginger exploded in his mouth whenever he chewed.  _ Skye. Foster system.  _ Phil swallowed, hoping his facial expression hadn’t come across as a representation of how he felt about Skye. “And you adopted her?” 

“I did,” This time it was the  _ siu mai _ , and May took a minute before she continued. “I took Skye in from foster care when she was four years old.” The slightest curl of her lips tilted up as she swallowed. “It was an...interesting couple of years.” 

Phil grappled for a  _ siu mai _ , frowning at his chopsticks when the dumpling slid right out of his grasp. “Interesting in what sort of way?” Ah. There it was.  _ Mm. Whoever seasoned the pork did it well. The oil’s tasty, but not in that greasy sort of way.  _

“That’s not my story to tell,” The quick glimmer of humor he’d caught was already gone. “If you want to know about that, you’d have to sit down with Skye. Of course, if you plan to use her story for the magazine, we’d have to discuss consent of release, since she’s still a minor...”

“Of course,” Phil nodded, as did May, and they shared an awkward moment of silence before Bobbi rolled by their table. 

“Bobbi Morse,” Automatically, Phil stood up to shake her hand, not  _ quite  _ able to disguise his curiosity at how someone of her appearance had managed to do so well at a Chinese restaurant. “It’s a long story, sir,”

“Also consent of release,” May said sharply, and Bobbi whined. Phil started. May’d adopted Bobbi, too?

“Come on, May, I’m almost an adult!” 

“You’re seventeen,  _ Barbara _ ,” May said pointedly, and Bobbi sulked. “You don’t turn eighteen until next May. Just because you’re raring to go to college across the country doesn’t mean you can start acting like an adult now.” 

“Across the country?” Phil couldn’t help but ask. “Where you thinking of?” 

Bobbi shrugged. “Depends on how much money we come up with, y’know? I mean.” She gave him a self-deprecating grin. “We’re making a killing from all the business the mafia brings in, but affording law school? A  _ good  _ law school?” She exhaled. “I’m gonna be seeing debt for days. It’s why I basically work here as much as May’ll let me. She’s still got Skye. I’m just the girl she took in behind the alley.”

_ “Barbara _ . _ ”  _

Bobbi shrugged again before lifting two dishes onto the table. “So I’ve brought you the  _ cheong fun _ in two forms.” The chipper voice she’d had before had hardened somewhat. “First thing you need to know is that  _ cheong fun  _ is a rice noodle. So, basically, rice flour. And water. Inside you can either have shrimp or pork, both of which we have here. They’re steamed and soaked in soy sauce.” Bobbi stamped the ticket a little harder than she normally would. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Coulson.” 

May waited until she’d rolled off before sighing and burying her head in her hands. “I trust none of that’s going to make it into the story.”

“Of course not. You have my fullest discretion.” Something told Phil that he’d be back for an expose, though, whether it was of his own volition or Roz’s commands. He  _ had  _ to know their stories. He wanted to know more about them - both Skye and Bobbi, about their relationship with May, their relationship with each  _ other _ . So much begged to be told about them. “May I ask, though -?”

“If I think it’s okay to answer, then yes.”

“Did you teach both of them Mandarin? Bobbi and Skye, that is?” 

There was that smile again. Elusive and captivating at the same time. Phil vowed he’d get a full smile before this interview was over. “Yes. Both of them are very good at it, although Skye’s a little better at it.” A little more of the smile. “I’ve seen people quake in their boots when she dresses them down for not tipping. Don’t tell Bobbi.”

Phil pantomimed zipping his lips. “My lips are sealed, Ms. May.”

“Melinda.”

He paused in the middle of taking a giant pork  _ cheong fun _ . “Mel - Melinda. O - okay. Melinda.” The rice noodle landed with an ungraceful flop onto his serving plate, sending sprinkles of soy sauce onto his face. Phil blinked, not even registering the small flecks of oil on his glasses.  _ Melinda May  _ had just told him to call her by her first name.  _ Melinda May.  _ He was  _ so  _ getting that date. 

_ Huh _ . He hadn’t thought about Roz or the story since they’d started the interview. Bobbi and Skye’s stories, interspersed with May’s, had just been so interesting he’d forgotten he’d been recording the conversation at all. He took a bite of the food currently on his plate, grinning at the now-familiar taste of savory oil and pork. 

“Excellent,” he grinned, and May’s face morphed into relief. “Just as good as the other food I’ve tasted here.” 

“Even your fried rice?”

“Even my fried - oh,” He’d gotten it! A full-on grin! Well. It was a smirk, but Phil would take what he could get. A smile would be his next goal. Even if it would be embarrassing to him. “Skye told you about the fried rice, didn’t she?”

“It's hard not to notice when it's the only filled plate left in a room full of destroyed dishes, Mr. Coulson” was all May smirked back. Wow. He was running on ten seconds with one. How long would it last?

“Call me Phil.”  _ Dammit, dammit, dammit!  _ He was going to lose that smirk for sure. What'd he say that for? It wasn't like he  _ liked  _ May. These were purely professional terms. Professional. 

Regardless, May was still nonplussed. “Well, Phil,” she said, not unkindly. “What other questions do you have for me?” Her professionalism was back like a polished stone - too bad the same couldn't be said for his. 

From the kitchen, Skye, Bobbi, Fitz, Piper and Mack all watched the interaction. Piper sighed as she slapped a five into Mack's hand without tearing her gaze from the table. “All he's done is spill his tea,” she deadpanned. “I was sure by now he'd make a blunder.”

“He's too adorable to do that,” Skye said absentmindedly, choking when four pairs of eyes slid over to her.  _ “Not like that,  _ you assholes! I mean nervous,” she muttered, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “He wants this to go well.” She didn't blame him - whoever was sending him on this story clearly had a lot of power to make Phil cower, she figured. As Phil sat a little straighter whenever May supposedly challenged one of his viewpoints, Skye nodded. Definitely that, because Phil Coulson seemed to be a force to be reckoned with on his own.

* * *

 

“Is it here yet, is it here yet,  _ is it here yet???”  _

“Oh my god, Morse, you're like an actual child,” Skye rolled her eyes and shielded her copy of the magazine within her arms, screaming when Bobbi half tackled her in an attempt to try and get it. “MACK!” In Mack's attempt to rescue the poor magazine, however, it was ripped out of her hands by Bobbi, allowing the tall blonde to climb off of Skye and dust herself off. (Not that Skye had  _ minded. _ )

“IT'S HERE, Y'ALL! THE MAGAZINE'S HERE!”

The entirety of the kitchen staff seemed to stampede at the words, all of them eagerly gathering around Bobbi to hear what she’d had to say. Fitz was the most eager of wall, wanting to know what a magazine had thought of his food. It was his first, after all. Magazines didn’t come sniffing around that often when the mafia was around. 

_ “May’s Golden Dragon was nothing short of a mystical experience.”  _ Another ruckus broke out, the kitchen staff high-fiving each other and Fitz. It took several tries from Bobbi, Skye and Mack before it was quiet enough for Bobbi to continue reading.  _ “As soon as I walked in the door, I was greeted not once, but twice by the enigmatic guardsman Alphonso Mackenzie and lively server Skye. Getting greeted once is hard enough in this city, but twice? About as rare as a golden dragon itself.”  _

“Hear that, lil’ sis?” Bobbi laughed, ruffling Skye’s hair. “You’re a ‘lively server’. He loved you!” Skye just scowled at her and fixed her ponytail, a slight tinge of pink dusting her cheekbones. 

“Yeah, yeah, Bobbi. Keep going.” 

_ “Unfortunately, my first visit was cut short due to an...unfortunate incident in the restaurant that resulted in its evacuation.  _ Thank god he didn’t mention the mafia,” Bobbi deadpanned. “He would’ve been six feet in the ground.  _ My second visit was no less chaotic, as I’d arrived in the middle of their Sunday morning service, otherwise known as the ‘grand dim sum prix’.  _ Hey, who told him that?!” All of the kitchen hands simultaneously pointed to Mack. “You know that’s a restaurant thing! We’re gonna have to start selling tickets now, jeez.  _ However, showing up in the middle of the dim sum rush did have its perks. I got a table by the window, for one. And two, I managed to get an exclusive from none other than the owner herself, Melinda May.”  _

“Did he really leave out the part where he spilled his tea and they half-flirted for the entire meal?” Piper rolled her eyes. “That’s like, the best part!” 

_ “Melinda May, unlike the rest of her staff, seemed to be a bit more reserved and guarded.  _ Hey!” Bobbi frowned.  _ “But once I got her talking about the food and the staff that served it, it was easy to see the passion and dedication both she and her staff put into making sure every customer had an enjoyable experience. Skye, her adoptive daughter, was, as I mentioned earlier, all smiles and friendly quips. Her sister, Bobbi Morse, was just as quippy, but in a brazenly honest way most waitresses wouldn’t be allowed to be.” _

“That’s just a nice way of saying sarcastic ass,” Fitz laughed. “C’mon, get to the food! I want to see what he wants to say about the food!” Bobbi just rolled her eyes and kept reading loudly. 

_ “The food arrived quickly on carts driven by the kitchen staff, although not without bearing signs of the ‘grand dim sum prix’. Smashing carts, apparently, is a great way to get out frustrations. If you’re a bad cart driver, though, it won’t do you well.  _ Put Pipes back into karting ed.  _ Each dish was packed to the brim with flavor, and the chef, Leo Fitz, did his best to make sure that each bite had its flavors evenly spread and not too forced with spice.”  _ Fitz let out his own loud whoop of joy, doing a lap around the restaurant before settling back in. 

_ “I came away from May’s Golden Dragon feeling like family,”  _ Bobbi read the last paragraph quietly.  _ “In the beginning, Skye asked me for my name, saying it was not only because they didn’t have table numbers, but because once new customers came in, they’d always come back. And I definitely plan to come back.” _

* * *

 

“Coulson, you’re going back.” Roz stared Phil down, a steely glint in her eyes. “I want to get exclusives about the family that made May’s. Get me interviews with both of the daughters. Get me an interview with the chef. Hell, even get me an interview from the security guard.” She grinned, and Phil wasn’t sure whether he feared it or liked it. “May’s is going to be our next big thing.” 


	4. A Whole Chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Hope Mackenzie, Skye was a bright child, and Phil gets quite the interview.

“And he returns,” Mack greeted jovially when Phil stepped through the doors for the third time, recorder in his hand and stoic look on his face. “Man on a mission, it looks like. Can I help you?” 

“Actually, you could,” Phil immediately dropped the facade, leaving Mack to wonder why he’d even tried putting it on in the first place. “Roz - my boss - sent me here to get the scoop on everyone. Literally everyone, from you to Fitz. She wants to know, and I quote, ‘what makes May’s a family’. And I’m pretty sure this is gonna get me a date with her, so,” He gave Mack a pleading, nervous grin. “Help a man out and do an interview with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Mack shook his hand a little more vigorously than he probably needed to. “On one condition.” Phil looked like he was ready to agree to anything from swimming with sharks to disturbing Fitz when he was figuring out spice combinations. “You gotta eat what I eat.”

“That’s it?” Phil was taken aback for a second.  _ That was easy.  _ “Okay...”

“Fitz, my man!” A vague acknowledgement was heard behind the clamor of the kitchen. “Get me two bowls of rice and a whole chicken, yeah? And extra scallion ginger sauce!” 

Naturally, Phil paled. “A whole chicken,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing quickly. “A  _ whole  _ chicken.” What did that even mean? He’d never seen parts of a chicken that weren’t a wing, breast or a thigh! What other part of a chicken could there possibly be to eat? “What...um..what’s on a whole chicken?” 

Mack recognized his nervousness and laughed. “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to be poisonous. Chicken skin’s actually really good when it’s not fried, surprisingly,” he said when Phil started at ‘poisonous’. “Fitz is gonna steam and brine it, and the sauce is made from scallions, ginger and oil. Nothing to shake a tail feather at.” When Phil gave him a sharp look, he relented. “Okay, okay. No more dad jokes. I can’t help it. It’s part of who I am.”

“You’re a dad?” Now  _ that  _ he could use. Both men sat down at a table, separated from all of the hubbub of the restaurant. Piper came by and set down two place settings, nodding before pouring each of them a cup of tea and withdrawing. “Son or daughter?” 

“Daughter.” Mack lit up immediately at the first mention of her. “Her name’s Hope,” he said, stark pride coloring his cheekbones in ways only a father could. “She’s about seven now, and she loves talking mechanics with Skye whenever she comes around.” 

_ So the kids got along. That’s nice to know.  _ “Her mom lets her do that?” Phil realized almost immediately he’d put his foot in his mouth, and backtracked splutteringly: “Not that I don’t think that girls can be scientists! I know girl scientists! My best friend Maria is one! Girls are better than guys at being scientists sometimes!” 

Surprisingly, Mack didn’t capitalize on that point at all. “Her mom’s not around anymore,” he said heavily, brightening only a little when Fitz set the chicken on the table, heaping plate of sauce included. “It’s a long story,” It was a story he felt he was sometimes losing, as Hope didn’t remember her mother at all. His friends never wanted to bring up the topic either, knowing the night usually ended with Mack in tears or in a mood so deep it took days to bring him out. “No one really wants to talk about it anymore.” 

Phil saw the jagged edge of Mack’s exterior and swooped in to peel it back, gently placing his recorder on the table. The chicken was forgotten for the moment. “I’ve never heard the story,” he said softly. “And Hope sounds like a wonderful little girl. I’ll talk to you about it as long as you like.” 

The chicken was placed onto the bed of rice, Mack lowering his head onto his elbows so that only the top of his head was seen. “Her name was Nicole.”

* * *

 

 _Ninety-six hours._  

_ Hope Natalie Mackenzie had only known her mother for ninety-six hours.  _

_ The procedure, they’d been told, had been difficult, but Nicole had pulled through, albeit a few complications that should resolve themselves within a few days. They’d even let Mack bring in Hope, freshly wrapped in a pink blanket with inquisitive brown eyes, from the nursery to see her mama.  _

_ “Hope,” Nicole croaked, the blinding smile on her face transcending all of the pain she’d been feeling. “My baby.” Mack gently set the pink, swaddled bundle into her arms, careful not to disrupt the maze of tubes running to and from different parts on her body. “My beautiful, sweet, baby.” _

_ She hadn’t seen Hope immediately after delivery, only had had time to hear her piercing cry fill the room before she was rolled away to the operating room, leaving Mack with her last fleeting touch and the ghost of a prayer. Hope had been deposited into his arms not shortly after, eighteen years of responsibility in merely 11 inches of innocence and beauty. It was only seven pounds, he reasoned, lifting it experimentally. He couldn’t understand why so many of his friends had raved about having a child, about the light and wonder it brought the first time they’d held their firstborn. This was like lifting weights. Up, down, up, down. Except less bicep curls and more whole weights.  _

_ Then Hope had opened her eyes, and Mack finally had understood what they’d all meant. Both he  _ and  _ Nicole were present in those bright brown eyes, wide and searching. Something in them begged Mack to do whatever she wanted. And he knew he would.  _

_ “Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!” _

_ Maybe just not at that moment, when he hadn’t slept for about forty-eight hours straight.  _

_ “Go get some rest,” Nicole had advised him, letting out the first laugh in days since she’d gone into labor. “I can hold her for a little while.” When Mack hesitated, the laugh turned into the best glare she could give. It wasn’t her glare at full strength, which would have sent him running from the room - but it was enough to have him consider it. “Honey, I had a C-section, not a kidney transplant. Go. Sleep for a little while. I don’t want to see you back in here until you’ve changed clothes.” That part, at the very least, was true - he hadn’t changed out from his work shirt and tie from when he’d entered the hospital, and it was crinkled and spattered with various coffee stains.  _

_ He’d still felt uneasy about leaving, but went home and changed out of his shirt, as per his wife’s directive. Made a pot full of pasta, misjudged the portion again (how  _ did  _ Nicole do it?), and sat in front of the living room, eating his first meal not straight from the hospital cafeteria in forty-eight hours. _

_ Every fiber of his being had screamed out to go straight back to the hospital, to go and be with his wife and daughter, but some small and powerful part of his brain forced Mack to fall asleep right there on the couch. Probably the part that hadn’t been used to consuming so many carbs at once. Either way, he woke up to sunlight trying stab through his eyelids, jolting off of the couch once he’d realized the time.  _

_ “Maybe I shouldn’t have sent you home to sleep,” Nicole had joked once he’d raced back to the hospital. “You look worse than you did before.” Maybe it was true, but in his defense, Nicole usually paired his tie and shirt. And tied it. No wife meant he was terrible at doing both.  _

_ “We both know who’s behind that,” he’d laughed, settling into the chair next to the bed. “How is she?” Nicole shifted to show the little bundle of pink nuzzled into her chest, and he smiled.  _

_ “Doing just fine, we are,” she smiled. “I think she missed her daddy a little, though. Took me forever to get her to sleep last night, and no one knew how to do it.” Mack shrugged - he had no idea what possessed Hope to like him better than the others. The baby chose that moment to open her eyes and wail loudly, startling both parents back into their newfound roles.  _

_ “Aw, come here, Hopey,” Mack cooed, missing the amused look on Nicole’s face when he scooped the pink bundle from her. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you.” She looked out of place in his arms, the length of her not even the length of one of his shoulders. “Daddy’s never gonna let you go,” Almost instantly, Hope quieted, much to the amusement of the rest of the hospital staff.  _

_ “Someone tamed the famous Hope Mackenzie,” one of the nurses chuckled, quailing when she caught Nicole’s glare. “Not in a bad way, ma’am, of course that’d never be in a bad way...” As soon as she turned the corner, fleeing in embarrassment, Nicole burst into a full-out cackle that subsided when she had to cough concerningly.  _

_ “‘S fine,” she muttered, waving Mack off when he stood, fear wavering his step and causing Hope to shake a little in his arms. “Doctors said it might happen.” When she was still met with a concerned stare, she rolled her eyes even harder. “I’m  _ fine _ , Al. Stop acting like I’m going to die on you. I’m not going anywhere, you’re stuck with me for life. Like you said in your vows.”  _

_ Famous last words. _

* * *

 

“Here’s your chicken,” Fitz said, setting down a steaming platter of food onto the table, golden skin and all. Phil had to _stare_ at just how much chicken there was, heap upon heap piled onto each other. A small plate of greenish, sharp-smelling sauce rested next to it, and when Mack turned to Fitz, disappointment and sadness in his eyes, the chef sighed and brought out another bowl of it from behind his back, plunking it onto the table. “There, Mack. You happy?” 

“Thanks, man,” Mack’s voice was gravelly from all of the talking he’d been doing, and he had to clear his throat several times before looking up at Fitz. “Really, man. Appreciate it.” Coulson also nodded his thanks before Fitz withdrew. The both of them picked at their food for a little while, neither of them feeling the need to break the silence. 

“You really do know how to get your chicken,” Phil said finally, still trying to figure out which piece of chicken to choose. “I wouldn’t know which one to pick if my life depended on it.” 

A sad smile made its way onto Mack’s face. “Nicole used to love getting a whole chicken from here,” he said. “She always said it made a better centerpiece than getting a turkey. Cost less, too, and she  _ hated  _ cranberry sauce.” Phil sat back then, studying Mack. He saw a man who’d been through hell and back losing his wife, who’d probably been handed more hell in raising a daughter alone, and yet still found time to give good to the world. Mack was a man he’d probably aspire to be, had he been in his position.  __

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” he said truthfully, and Mack nodded, plodding more sauce into his bowl of rice. “And I think she’d be proud to know how you’ve been doing,”

* * *

 

 _The call had come at 3:46AM, startling Mack out of his slumber and nearly sending Hope into another crying fit. He hadn’t been sleeping well ever since Nicole had been in the hospital, missing the warmth curled into him and his cold toes._  

_ He fumbled for the phone, just barely managing to get it open without dropping it on the floor. “Who.” They better have a damn good reason for disturbing the largest amount of sleep he’d gotten since Hope had been born.  _

_ “Am I speaking to Mr. Mackenzie?” Mack straightened. He knew that tone.  _

_ “...speaking.” _

_ “This is Dr. Danvers from St. John’s,” the voice began, but the ringing had already began in Mack’s ears, deafening and insistent. He could barely fathom what was being said on the other end of the line. “...sepsis...heart too weak...come in as soon...”  _

_ He didn’t see how his feet managed to get both of them from bedside to hospital. Didn’t hear how the rain pounded down on the back window or how Hope wailed all the way there. Couldn’t even feel the steering wheel under his fingertips, or the cold, slimy hand sanitizer required with every trip to the hospital.  _

_ In fact, nothing really caught up to him until the doctor himself was in front of him, words so long coming out of his mouth they might have well been from another planet, but still wreaking the same havoc on his system had they been in perfect English.  _

_ “I’m so sorry, Mr. Mackenzie...” _

_ “Where is she?” It’d been the first words he’d said since that grunting greeting on the phone. Even the doctors were so shocked at his proclamation that all chatter ceased, the doctors falling silent. Mack glared at all of the doctors in turn, momentarily forgetting the small bundle in his arms he’d come to love over the last few days. “Where. Is. She?” None of them answered. “WHERE IS SHE?” _

_ The noise awoke Hope, who opened her eyes fearfully and began to cry. She didn’t quite understand what was going on, but something had disturbed her sleep and she wasn’t too happy about it.  _

_ “Look what you’ve done,” Mack grumbled before turning his attention to the wailing charge. “Hey, Hope,” he said, the gentle words a direct contrast to his previous growl. “I’m sorry I had to wake you up, honey. Something’s happened to your mama and I’m trying to figure out what happened. Think you can go back to sleep for me?” Still, Hope insisted on crying for at least another ten minutes before deciding that yes, sleep was a good option, her cries fading into the silence still settled among the doctors.  _

_ A nervous young intern stepped forward, chagrin and pity written all over her features. “This way, Mr. Mackenzie,” he said, gesturing down the hallway with a shaking hand. Mack gave him a curt nod before following him, making sure to glare at the the rest of the doctors. Honestly. Sending an intern to do a doctor’s job. What kind of doctors were they?  _

_ When he walked into the room, he resisted the urge to laugh. Surely they’d fucked something up. There was no way Nicole was dead. She looked fine, exactly the way he’d left her the last time - sleeping in the bed, eyes gently shut and hair mussed all over her face. She was just sleeping, he wanted to tell them. Went and caused him a bunch of stress for her to really just be sleeping.  _

_ The young intern took a deep breath, drew himself up to his full height, and turned to face him. “I assure you, sir, we did everything we could to save her...” _

_ “Save her?” Mack let the chortle escape. “There’s nothing to save. She’s not dead.” The poor intern, really. He was probably the target of a terrible hazing ritual. Mack couldn’t even bring himself to be angry at the staff - he’d gotten a good chuckle out of it, and the intern got practice. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, and I really am sorry they chose you to haze, man.”  _

_ “It’s not,” the intern said quietly, desperation flickering across his face. Anger he’d been taught to deal with, but denial? Heavy and strong denial? He wasn’t so sure. “Her heartbeat’s stopped. You can’t hear it on the monitor anymore. We unplugged it.”  _

_ “Then plug it back in!” Mack laughed. “It’ll come up. You’ll hear it.” Sighing, the intern plugged it back in, waiting for the inevitable realization and consequent crash. This he was trained to deal with. He could do this. With a click, the monitor was plugged back in, the lonely whine filling the room with its significance.  _

_ “Sir...” _

_ “Come on, babe, you can stop joking around now,” The grin was still on Mack’s face, fading a little with each passing second. “I know you’re going to wake up any second now.” When the monitor continued, injecting its tone into Mack’s brain, he frantically grasped Nicole’s hand, recoiling internally when he found it rapidly cooling. “It’s not funny, ‘cole. You said it. I was stuck with you forever. You were stuck with me forever. Just like in our vows.” At some point, the intern had edged out of the room and fled down the hallway, something Mack was thankful for when he heard his voice crack.  _

_ Somewhere far away, he heard Hope start to cry, a nurse darting in and trying to settle her. All he could hear was the whine of the monitor, the feel of Nicole’s cold hand in his. It hadn’t quite dawned on him as to what it meant in the long run. He still didn’t when the doctors swarmed in to wheel Nicole out, the room being recycled for the next unfortunate patient to languish away within the hospital’s walls.  _

_ He didn’t understand even when he was staring down at a freshly dug pile of dirt, the tombstone and casket ordered after his twentieth cup of coffee. Only when he’d climbed into bed, tucking Hope next to him (he figured it was easier than putting her in the crib) and stared at into  _ her  _ eyes, rather than Nicole’s, that he’d realized what’d happened.  _

_ Nicole Lynn Mackenzie (formerly Naderos) had exchanged her life for her daughter’s. And once Mack’d allowed that thought into his mind, there was no getting rid of it.  _

_ It was hard, not to ignore Hope’s every cry. After all, why would he ever  _ think  _ about watching over the very person - the very thing - that had cost Nicole her life? Mack hated it. Hated that with every look into her eyes, he saw the only remnants of his former wife, blinking up at him innocently like she’d done nothing wrong. When she knew she damn well had.  _

_ He considered letting her go for adoption, once. Didn’t even have the flare of self-resentment following it after the thought. He just didn’t want to see his wife haunt his bed anymore. Was that too much to ask? _

* * *

 

“In a way, May saved me,” Mack said. They’d picked apart the chicken some time ago, the bones littering the plate and splotches of sauce all over the table. Phil was enraptured in the story, his chin in his hands. “She gave me something solid when everyone else was letting me slide.”  

“She gave you this job,” Phil said almost absentmindedly, frowning when Mack let out a careful wheeze, still emotionally turbulent from having retold his story for the first time in what seemed like years. “She didn’t give you this job?”

“Well, it was close,” Mack said, quietly picking at his rice. “She gave me a wake-up call.”

* * *

 

_ Knock knock. Knockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknockknock. Knockknockknockknock.  _

_ “Skye, I told you not to knock so many times!”  _

_ “But, Bobbi! What if he can’t hear it!”  _

_ “Then we’ll just leave the food, okay? Knocking too many times makes people mad,” There was a tinge of regret behind that comment, Mack noticed as he went to open the door. He wondered what was behind it.  _

_ “Hi,” He’d been expecting nearly anyone at his door - the IRS, a Jehovah’s Witness, even his mother. All of them he would’ve known how to deal with. But this - two little girls, one blonde, one brunette, with boxes in their hands - he didn’t know how to deal with at all. Hell, he barely knew how to deal with his own daughter (very grudgingly, may he add). Now there were two of them at his doorstep. “‘re you Mister...” The smaller brunette, the one who’d presumably knocked so eagerly earlier, checked the piece of paper she held crumpled in her hand. “Mister Mac...Macke...” _

_ “Mackenzie,” the slightly taller blonde finished, and the shorter one shot her a grateful smile. “Are you Mister Mackenzie, sir?” Mack frowned a little at the title. He didn’t think he was old enough to be called ‘sir’ just yet.  _

_ “That’s me,” he said, and the blonde flinched a little at his voice, the shorter one quickly shooting out a hand to hold her steady. Hm. That was...saddening, but interesting. “What can I do for you?” God, he hoped it wasn’t Girl Scout cookies. He and Nicole had always hated peanut butter patties. And these two girls were almost too cute to turn down. “If you’re selling cookies, I don’t think I can -”  _

_ “No, no, we’re not selling cookies,” the shorter girl interrupted, hanging her head when the taller one shot her a look of terror and a whispered ‘Skye!’. “We’re from May’s Golden Dragon,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest a little. “Our mama...I mean, the cook said you hadn’t called in a really long while, and she wanted to make sure you were okay. So she sent us with these!” A white take-out box was held up proudly.  _

_ “We live upstairs,” the taller blonde explained in a quieter tone. “We heard about your wife, we’re so sorry.” She spoke years beyond her age, Mack noted, a guarded demeanor draped over her features. “Melinda May, the owner downstairs, sent them, as Skye said. She wanted to thank you for all of the business you and your wife gave her over the years, and that she’ll be sending up food as often as she can.”  _

_ In the apartment, he heard Hope begin to cry, and Skye (he hoped that was her name) perked up. “Is that a baby?!”  _

_ “Skye!” the other girl shushed. “You don’t just go around asking people if that’s a baby! I’m sorry about my sister,” she apologized immediately. “She’s still young, and gets excited by a lot of things...” _

_ “There’s no need to apologize,” Mack found himself saying, and surprised even himself. “Would you girls like to come in?” The two girls shared a look before cautiously picking up the boxes and stepping in. “I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really expecting people to come in...” _

_ “Baby!” ...for people to come in and take a shining to his daughter as soon as they crossed the threshold. Behind him, Bobbi was quietly taking the boxes out of the bags, setting them on the table where there weren’t any papers.  _

_ “Yeah, this is Hope,” Something flickered into Mack when he saw Skye’s excitement, streaking across his almost constant dreariness. Was this what having a daughter would be like later? “Would you like to hold her?”  _

_ “Can I?” Shining brown eyes looked up at him, and for the first time, he was able to look into a pair of brown eyes without seeing Nicole. Mack nodded and easily lifted Hope out of her crib, settling her into Skye’s arms. Skye gasped, holding Hope as if she were a precious treasure. “She’s so pretty.”  _

_ “Skye, come on, we have to go.” The older girl’s voice rang out from behind them, and Skye turned towards her, disappointment and sadness clear in her face. “Mom wants us back as soon as she can.” _

_ “Well, thank you very much for coming by, miss Skye,” Mack figured it was the polite thing to say, and really, May’s had gone above and beyond in their service. Skye giggled. “You tell Miss May thank you for all of the food.”  _

_ “Mr. Mackenzie?” Skye stumbled over the other half of his last name, but was still shy all the same, toeing the ground nervously. “Can - can I come back and visit Hope sometime?” Genuine admiration shone on her face. “She’s really cute.”  _

_ Mack chuckled, jolting a little bit at how unfamiliar the sound sounded. “Sure. Anytime you want.” Not that she’d probably be back, he mused, putting away the boxes for later. It was a polite visit. Nothing more. _

* * *

 

“But they kept coming back,” Mack said. “They kept bringing me food. Every day, without fail.” Fitz had finally arrived to take away their plates, Coulson shooting the chef a thumbs up that had nearly caused him to drop the plate. “For six months. And sometimes, there wasn’t food, just Skye.” 

“She wasn’t lying about Hope,” The more Phil learned about Skye, the more admiration he had for her. The young woman seemed to light a fire in everyone she met, easily charming them and converting them into lifelong patrons of May’s. Suddenly, he was starting to understand why there were so many loyal customers at the restaurant. 

“Bobbi had to explain to me where she kept going every afternoon,” a soft voice echoed above them. Both men turned to see Melinda May standing at the edge of their table, two takeout boxes in her hands. “I thought she’d joined the Chinese mafia. Mack. Phil.”

“May,” Mack smiles. “How’re you today?” 

“Trying to fix the damages to your dim sum cart, as always.” May didn’t smile, but there was no barb behind her remark. She handed both of them a box each. “Mack. Your beef chow mein. Phil, your surprise box.” 

“Surprise box?”  Phil wasn’t sure he could handle any more surprises after the whole chicken. “I didn’t order a surprise box.” 

“Skye suggested it,” May answered with a fond, exasperated look silently directed at her daughter across the room. “She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not waiting around for Phil to grow the balls to try one of the cooler things in the restaurant. He needs to be dunked into it head first.’ Thus, surprise box. I don’t even know what’s in here. Fitz made it.” 

“You didn’t look in the box?” As much as he trusted the chef not to poison him, something about Melinda May knowing was what in the box comforted him. 

May quirked her lips into a smile. “What would be the fun in that?” 

And, as Phil opened the box later to find a heap of chicken feet with sauce and rice, he had to wholeheartedly agree that there was indeed some fun in not knowing sometimes. 


	5. Chicken Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobbi and Skye fall in love, Phil learns a valuable skill, May feels out of place.

Greenwich Village was too quiet, May decided. Too green. Too...well, there were probably at least fifteen other things that were off-putting about the neighborhood, all of them having to do with just the atmosphere itself. Absentmindedly, as the mass of bodies shifted, she turned left. To her right, Bobbi followed, her wide blue eyes much more impressed with the modernity of the village than May was.  

It wasn’t like she hadn’t  _ not  _ been there, either. She’d made sure to take both of her girls around every borough of the city at least once. Even Alphabet City - she was pretty sure that’d been where Bobbi’d decided she’d go into law. But she supposed that everything was different when you were taking it in as a potential college site: the traffic sounds heightened, the breezes gentler, the sun warm and promising good times on your skin. All of it  _ screamed  _ ‘perfect college experience’. It was a pretty good gimmick, she had to admit. 

“Look, Mom,” Bobbi breathed, breaking May out of her musings. They’d arrived at the library, with its higher-than-the-eye-can-see ceilings and intricate sculptures. Around them, the other parents whispered with each other and their kids as the tour guide droned on about the library’s history and all it had to offer. “Isn’t it amazing?” 

May certainly had to admit the building had its charms. On the outside, it’d seemed perfectly nondescript, made of brick just like every other university library she’d seen. But once they’d walked inside, she’d been forced to swallow her words as she stared up at the symmetrical jagged staircases, the far wall’s flights forming almost a chevron. The sides, thank goodness, were perfectly straight. And did everything have to be covered in those drapey, off-color beads? They were either beige or cherry wood, but they most definitely made her dizzy. 

She didn’t even want to get started on the floor. Damn cubed optical illusions. What was with NYU and their beige?

“So, what’d you think?” Bobbi asked her excitedly once they’d exited the library, choosing not to follow the tour guide back to Washington Square Park to end the tour. The two of them stood on the street corner, people and cars passing by as if they were rocks in a stream. “Isn’t it amazing? It’s only a fifteen minute train ride to Chinatown, so I can work whenever you need me to, and it’s enough distance that you don’t have to come visit every part of every day, and there’s so many opportunities for me to try once I graduate - hell, even while I’m in school, there’s tons of opportunities - and all of the buildings are so pretty and it’s like living in the rush of the city, Mom, this could be it,” May watched her daughter’s eyes shine so brightly she swore she could see stars. “This could really be it.” 

May sighed, her age and culture beginning to catch up to her for the first time since they’d stepped off of the train. In a year and a half, she’d no longer be constantly surrounded by Bobbi’s effortlessly bubbly presence, come with sarcastic quips though it may. In a year and a half, her eldest daughter would be off to pursue her own education, jumping feet first into the deep end of life’s challenges. 

The thing was, she’d never seen Bobbi so at home as she’d looked during the tour; for the first time, her daughter’s blue eyes, blonde hair and pale skin allowed her to fit in instead of marking her as the outlier. It was the one thing May hadn’t been able to give her when she’d been adopted - a childhood mirroring that of the culture she belonged to. Sometimes she wondered if Bobbi ever resented the cards she’d been dealt, having to live in a family where no one looked like her. Where instead of macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets, invited friends were treated to fried rice and crab rangoon. Where local hangouts meant in Little Italy and the Financial District, rather than Chelsea or Central Park. 

Bobbi attending NYU would mean she’d get what May had never been able to give to her. And as a mother, shouldn’t she have tried everything in her power to do that? She could already see it - her daughter, fresh from law school and already making strides, her past hidden behind her Caucasian last name and all-American appearance. It’d be selfish of her to keep Bobbi from achieving her full potential, of course, but a small part of her wanted to dig her heels in as best as she could, if only to keep her daughter the same girl she was now.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do: she inhaled. “You smell that, honey?”

Bobbi looked confused, but inhaled anyways. “What?”

“Smells like $70,000 a year. Better get back to the restaurant and let Yang stare at your boobs a little more.” 

_ “Mom!" _

* * *

 

 _“Chicken feet?”_  

May stared at Phil in amusement when he turned up later that day, rattling box of bones in his hand. “Chicken feet’s an integral part of dim sum culture, Phil,” she said, reminding herself to give Skye a light lecture about scaring off potential customers with unusual foods. She couldn’t deny that the look on his face was funny, though. “I would’ve ordered it during the interview, but I didn’t want to scare you off again. You  _ were  _ scared of a plate of fried rice, after all.” 

Somewhere in the background, Fitz and Piper burst into laughter, and Phil scowled in the general direction of the kitchen while May just shook her head. “Yeah, well, bring on the next one,” Phil said, trying to retain some sort of bravado. “It’s gonna take a lot more than a batch of chicken feet to make me run.” He decided not to mention the  _ long  _ googling session he’d had trying to identify the food Skye’d boxed for him. Nor did it seem appealing to think about all of the bones he’d consumed and spit out in that thirty minute span. His jaw hurt just thinking about it. What was the appeal of eating chicken feet, anyways? Did the Chinese just  _ like  _ eating bones and spitting them out again?

“Of course. Have you eaten yet?” When Phil’s stomach answered for him instead of his vocal chords, May nodded. “Fitz, get me a plate of fried rice and some bowls. And talk to Skye, ask her what she wants to put in Phil’s next surprise box.” 

_ “Yes, Chef!” _

“And I swear if you keep watching  _ Hell’s Kitchen  _ I’m sending you to  _ work  _ in Hell’s Kitchen.”

_ “Yes, May.” _

“So,” Phil said awkwardly once they were seated, luck having found it in itself to seat them at the same table they’d been at before. “How’ve you been, Ms...Melinda?” He adjusted his tie uncomfortably. “I spoke to Mack yesterday about his story.” It’d been nothing short of inspiring to him, and more than in just the typical heroic way. “I thought it was brave of him, to admit that he’d considered giving Hope up.” 

“Mack’s always been a different sort of man,” May remarked quietly. “He’s a considerate person to everyone, even to those who don’t deserve it. Always took the time to treat our staff nicely, even back when there weren’t a lot of English speakers. Did he tell you he learned Mandarin so he could communicate with the staff? He was a businessman before he came here; the extra language helped him out in the foreign relations department, too.” 

Phil had a couple of war flashbacks to when he’d tried to learn Spanish. Learning  _ Mandarin _ , on the other hand...He shuddered. Better leave speaking languages to the pros. He just wrote things. “He told me you were key in turning his life around.” 

May gave him a rueful smile. “He always tells people that. I just bombarded his apartment with food until he cme downstairs.” Phil tried to imagine a younger, more stubborn Melinda May who, despite running a restaurant and fostering two daughters, still managed to find the time to send food to a neighbor upstairs to make sure he was eating constantly. He found it in the stubborn set of her jaw, the determination of her eyes. It was something partly caring, partly general generosity, and he stared for a minute, trying to figure out just how the universe had produced something so  _ good _ . 

Nope. His brain was failing to compute. 

“...Phil?”

“Right.” Phil snapped his eyes back up to May just as Fitz set down a heaping plate of fried rice, complete with two bowls, a set of chopsticks, and a spoon. “Is that spoon for me?” 

“...should I have gotten you chopsticks?” There was a twinkle in her eye, and Phil added it to the list of things he needed to get out of Melinda May more often. Second only to that smile. “I can pretend that’s a serving spoon and get you another pair of chopsticks.” 

Well, now he was cornered. But Phil Coulson had never been one to back down from a challenge. “Sure. I’ll take the chopsticks.” Piper, who he swore had probably been hanging around for that exact reason, handed him a pair of chopsticks and disappeared. Sticks in hand, he stared at them, trying not to clue May in on his naivete.  _ Seriously, Coulson. All these years of Chinese takeout and you never once use chopsticks. What sort of New Yorker are you? _

“Eat up,” May said nonchalantly, a grin curling up on the right side of her lips. “If you don’t hurry, I just might eat it all.” Fueled by that elusive smile and the possibility of no food, Phil picked up his chopsticks haphazardly, hoping that some sort of holding combination would allow him to get at least a grain into his mouth. Maybe a vegetable, if he was lucky. 

Maybe he could stab it like this...? Nope. The chopsticks sliced right through the rice, briefly picking up a grain when he tried to close them. Desperate, Phil snuck a look at May’s hand, trying to emulate her technique; much to his dismay, not only was she handling the chopsticks way too intricately for him to stare at, she hadn’t been lying about eating all of the fried rice. 

The struggle went on for a good five minutes before May finally took laughing pity on him. “You need some help there, Phil?”

The sheepishness on his face was almost cute enough for her to tell him that Skye’d put jellyfish into his surprise box for tonight. It was pretty cute. But not...not  _ cute _ , cute. Melinda May didn’t  _ do  _ cute. She didn’t do attraction. Not since the carpet incident. And Phil Coulson, she suspected, she didn’t want to taser into the carpet. 

“Could you help me, Melinda?” 

“What kind of New Yorker are you?” she asked as she got up, flitting over to his side of the table and sliding the chopsticks out of his hand. “Okay, so first you want to pick one up and hold it like you would a pencil.” Phil did so, his expression so serious one would’ve thought he was defusing a bomb. “Rest it on your fourth finger...no, like that,” Without thinking, May reached over and adjusted the chopstick, the heat of Phil’s hand causing her to pause for a second before settling it delicately onto said finger. “Okay, press your middle finger against it - yup, just like that. Now, take the second one and hold it between your second finger and thumb - your thumb should just be a fulcrum point, and your second finger pivots it back and forth...I’m going to let go now,” and it was only then that she realized they were essentially holding hands. Cheeks burning, she snatched her hand back.  _ Not  _ **_cute_ ** _ cute.  _ “Go ahead and try and pick up a vegetable or a shrimp now.”

There was some clumsy clicking as Phil tried to get used to the position, the second chopstick slipping several times before he held up a shrimp in its clutches. “I got it!” The achievement seemed to sink in a second later. “Melinda, I got it!” He popped the shrimp into his mouth. “I got a shrimp with chopsticks!” 

“Of course.” She gave him her winning smile, the one she used whenever a customer dealt her a compliment. “Now, just make sure, when you eat rice with chopsticks, hold them together and shovel small bites into your mouth from the bowl.” Phil frowned at the smile. It was a smile, yes, but it wasn’t  _ his  _ smile. It was fake, rehearsed. Another layer to add to his notebook. He wanted to tell her no, she didn’t need that smile around him, she could give him her real smile, but instead, he reached for the platter. 

“Phil?”

“Hmmm?” he asked inelegantly, his cheeks full with fried rice. May waited until he’d swallowed (and choked on a couple of grains of rice, causing Mack to rush over and watch him worriedly in case the Heimlich was needed) before continuing. “What’s up?”

“What do you know about NYU?”

“NYU?” Phil put down his bowl, looking May over earnestly. The normally confident woman looked a little frazzled by the topic, eyes brimmed with uncertainty. “It’s a good school. I mean, they only take a good amount of the best of the best. Why d’you ask?” His mind flashed back to their previous dim sum luncheon, back to sunny but wintry remarks and flippant attitude. “Is...forgive me if I’m stepping a line here, but...is Bobbi looking at NYU?” She’d be a good fit there, he mused. She was strong but vulnerable, and had the ability to change the world if she put her mind to it. 

“I...” May had no idea why she was even asking him about this. They’d only known each other for a week, tops, and here she was, asking him for advice about how to parent her eldest daughter. She didn’t even ask her  _ mother  _ for that advice. Phil noticed the sudden change in her demeanor, and folded his hands on the table. 

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, we took the tour yesterday...”

* * *

 

“...and oh my god, I love it so much, Skye, I can already see myself there, y’know? Shoving my way through the crowds and running down city blocks at night and curling up in a chair in the corner of the library...” If Bobbi hadn’t been in the middle of a mass herd of students trudging towards the school, she would’ve done a little spin right there in the street. Skye just looked up with an amused eye, still typing rapidly away on her phone. “Come on, May. You could at least _pretend_ to be happy for me." 

“I am. Your enthusiasm is just suffocating me.” With what exactly, Skye would never tell her. She hated that Bobbi had already had her heart set on where to go. Like she was ready to turn and abandon them at the first sign of opportunity. Didn’t Bobbi know that Skye needed her sister now more than ever? When boys were throwing her catcalls around every corner and the mafia had started staring at  _ her  _ boobs? So she could help her figure out why there was a constant fluttering in her stomach (she was probably sick, but Bobbi always managed to make everything feel better)? 

No, she  _ needed  _ Bobbi now. And now, she was planning to just up and leave them like they’d never existed. It wasn’t fair. Her parents had left. Her foster parents had kept leaving.  _ Bobbi  _ was leaving. Skye expected May to up and leave her at some point, too. Par for the course. “Piper’s gonna devastate me with you gone.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Bobbi snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. “I’ll be around all the time, of course. Gotta make a living somehow, y’know? Might even just live at home.”  _ But it wouldn’t be the same,  _ Skye echoed churlishly. And it wouldn’t. Instead of whispered conversations at 2AM, it’d be Skye trying to sleep while Bobbi studied feverishly for her exams. Bobbi remaining blissfully asleep while Skye dragged her tired ass out of bed at six in the morning. Both of them, ships passing in the night. Nothing would be the same. And Skye wasn’t sure she was ready to handle that just yet. “Besides, what’s it to you? It’s not for another two years anyways. You’ve got two years to get all of your blackmail material in.” 

“Nothing,” Skye swallowed down the knot of bitterness in her throat, warning herself not to bring it back up until it was absolutely necessary. Bobbi didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t what sisters did to each other. “Hey,” she said, partly to distract Bobbi from the topic of college and partly to distract herself from the fact that she’d been thinking about her sister a little more than sisters should’ve. “Who’s got the bike parked out front? Do they know they’re gonna get towed?”

“Wha?” Bobbi looked up, just as confused, and blue eyes promptly blew wide upon seeing the shiny black motorcycle edged neatly into a parking spot outside the school. “Holy shit.” 

“Holy shit is right,” her friend Kara breathed, popping up next to them. Bobbi was so thrown by the bike she didn’t even make her usual short joke. “Dude must be ripped. You think he’s new? God, I hope he’s part of the football team. I would  _ kill  _ to touch those pecs. I bet he’s got abs, too.” 

“I’d ride that,” Bobbi blurted out, causing Kara to cackle and Skye to blush redder than the brick that made up their school building. “The  _ bike _ , Jesus, Kar, Skye, get your minds out of the gutter. Honestly,” she shook her head at her friend and sister. “How’d I get stuck with you two, anyways? Keep laughing, Skye, I’ll tell Mom you got what that joke meant.” Skye immediately fell silent. The sex talk from Melinda May was nothing to trigger. She’d heard rumors from Piper it involved a chicken and a zucchini.

Still curious, the three of them joined the small crowd that was gathering around the bike, the students speculating as to whose it was. 

_ “Gotta be someone new. No way they wouldn’t know not to park there.” _

_ “I bet he’s part of one of the gangs.”  _

_ “What, and you think that keeps them from not giving a shit? Dude, Von Strucker’s part of the Pedes, and he still thinks it’s a bad idea to park there.” _

_ “Von Strucker’s a kiss-ass. He’d do anything to get ahead.”  _

“‘Xcuse me, if you will, I have to move my bike.” The entire crowd looked up, presumably for the mystery man that owned such an extravagant motorcycle. Dissent rippled through the crowd when they found none, a large gasp going up instead when the person straddling the bike was not a man, but indeed a woman. 

A woman who, Skye swore up and down when she talked to Mack later, was  _ literal walking perfection _ . (Hope had looked unimpressed Skye’d fallen so quickly while Mack held back his chuckles.) Her dark skinny jeans were nearly painted on, tall, intimidating leather boots stretching up to her calves. A forest green tank top molded to her (seemingly many) curves, and the mystery woman shook out her dark hair (“It was like ebony, Mack. Like olives. What do you mean? Girls can appreciate girls!”) before replacing her helmet on her head. 

“Holy shit,” Kara whispered again next to them as the engine roared to life. “I think I just turned gay.” The students scattered when the bike turned out of the spot, save for Bobbi and Skye. Both of them were staring at the girl for entirely different reasons; Bobbi because she recognized the woman and was thoroughly confused, Skye in the manner of someone who’d been automatically smitten. 

The woman on her bike paused, unused to having passengers gawking as she tried to exit. She lowered her visor, sealing the deal for Bobbi’s confusion and Skye’s obvious admiration. Dark green eyes peered at the both of them, flashing in appraisal. “Can I help you ladies?” 

“I’m just going to apologize for them both,” Kara broke in, dragging Bobbi and Skye away when neither of them moved. “You have a kickass bike, I’d love to learn about it sometime, but really, go park it before Fury finds out and kicks  _ your  _ ass instead of the bikes.” The other woman nodded, roaring off. “Care to tell me what that was about, you idiots?”

Skye was still completely mute, her jaw scraping the ground. “She’s hot.” Kara frowned. Maybe Mrs. May was going to have to give that talk a little sooner than she wanted. 

Bobbi, on the other hand, was still just confused. “Huh,” she muttered. “Jade Wong’s back from boarding school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok but if you haven't watched katie mcgrath in supergirl, leading lady, or merlin, you're seriously missing out. or, at the very least, in "from eden" by hozier because shit those flannels


	6. Spicy Fish and Calamari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fitz metaphorically scorches everyone, Skye really hates Thoreau, and truths come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!
> 
> I'm really sorry about the lack of Philinda in the last few chapters, but I promise I'll bring it back as soon as possible!

Piper had had her fair share of retail jobs. In the course of her lifetime, she’d been a coffee barista (never was she going near that unicorn frappuccino  _ ever  _ again,), a clothes cashier, a sandwich maker, a drive-thru operator, and everywhere in between. Each job had brought its own challenges, some she’d powered through and others she’d quit straight away. While she’d expected waitressing at May’s involved some...daunting challenges (read:  _ re- _ learning Mandarin, which she’d taken in high school), she hadn’t quite come to expect spice tasting would be one. 

Specifically,  _ Fitz’s  _ spice tastings. At the moment, Mack had run to the bathroom to douse his head under the sink, Skye was pretending to choke, Davis had gone to call his wife for ‘one last goodbye’, as he’d called it, and Bobbi looked like she was seriously considering ripping her tongue out of her mouth. May, of course, looked perfectly unruffled.

“It doesn’t look so bad!” Fitz exclaimed, a bit of his Scottish brogue slipping out in his hurt. “‘S not like I put in as much as last time!” Oh, yes. Piper remembered the last time they’d all sat down like this: the last dish revision, when Fitz had slipped a ghost pepper into their spicy fish and calamari. “There’s less ghost pepper in it!” 

“Less ghost pepper?” Skye actually seemed to choke. “Fitz, how about next time, you hold  _ up  _ on the ghost pepper unless someone asks to burn a hole into their esophagus?!” May just hummed beside her, picking up another piece and popping it into her mouth. Fitz just harrumphed and muttered something about ‘destroying his creative expression’. 

“I heard that, Fitz,” Piper snarked, taking a giant sip of the tea she’d poured earlier. Mack ran back in, still dripping wet, and proceeded to drink directly from the teapot. “You’re destroying our ability to swallow. You might wanna think about that the next time you’re with a girl.” At that,  _ May  _ choked, Skye fell out of her chair, and Bobbi considered ripping her brain out instead of her tongue. 

“No!” Mack yelled. “No, no, no no no no. I do  _ not  _ need to think about my man Fitz like that.” Piper smirked as Skye groaned in agreement. “Give a man some boundaries, Piper. Isn’t like I’m his brother or anything.” 

“Bloody hell,” Fitz looked like he was considering eating a ghost pepper just to avoid thinking about that. “Wasn’t planning on getting a girlfriend, Piper. Now I’m most  _ definitely  _ not getting one.” To prove his point, he bit viciously into one of the calamari. “Oh, hell, hot, hot hot!” His cries could be heard all the way from the kitchen, mingling with Davis’.

“I’m gonna go get him,” Piper sighed, scooting out from the table as the rest of them began to cautiously taste the dishes. 

“So, how’s school been this week?” May asked casually, scooping some sauce into her bowl. She didn’t get much of a chance to catch up with her daughters, especially given their age and her position, but dish review was always a good chance to hear about the latest gossip. 

“Well, first thing you should know is that Nathaniel Hawthorne is the evillest person to ever exist,” Skye said, forcefully shoveling down a spoonful of rice. “Always speaks in stupid metaphors and ideas that are  _ way  _ too big for life, like he could expect  _ anyone  _ to understand what the hell he’s saying -”

“Skye failed a  _ Scarlet Letter  _ test,” Bobbi translated without looking up, not even bothering to glance at her sister’s affronted face. 

“Hey!” Bobbi just shrugged and reached for a piece of chicken. “What happened to the sister code?” Another shrug. “See what happens the next time you try to start hooking up with some random dude behind the bleachers.” 

“Don’t you even  _ dare _ , Skye, it was  _ one  _ time -”

“Skye,” May paused in taking a bowl of soup. “Is this true?” The younger adopted May seemed to slump in her seat, ready to dunk her face in her plate of rice. “Did you fail that test?” Not that she blamed the girl. The book really had sucked. Plus, she was sure that somewhere in the bowels of their storage unit, there was a box containing the exact same test with Bobbi’s name on it. That grade hadn’t been pretty either. 

“It was a 78,” she said glumly, speaking more to the rice than to either Bobbi, May or Mack. Fitz emerged from the kitchen, face cooled down and apron discarded. “Didn’t really grasp the idea that Pearl was the rose, or that the preacher was actually struggling with the brand to his chest.” 

“ _ The Scarlet Letter _ ?” Fitz asked, snagging his own bowl of rice. Skye just sighed into her rice. “I remember that book. Read it a couple of years ago.” Skye snorted. Of course Fitz had. He never passed up the chance to passively aggressively remind them that he was somewhat of a boy genius. “Massively sucked.”

Piper emerged from the back room, half-carrying a sweating Davis. “Davis survives another week,” she announced, and everyone groaned, Piper leaning over to smack a five into Mack’s hand before continuing to drag Davis to the door. “Try harder, Fitz. I have rent to pay.” 

May frowned. “Piper, you know that we have a spare apartment if you need it-”

“Shush, Melinda. I’m not taking your space and you know it.”  May just sighed. She couldn’t remember how long they’d been contesting over this, but Piper’s pride was Piper’s pride, and as long as it kept her coming in for her shifts, she’d concede. Speaking of concessions:

“Skye. The test.” 

“It’s only the second test of the term, there’s like another five,” Skye straightened up immediately, eyes wide with worry. “I promise I’ll study like hell for the next ones and I’ll get A’s on them, Mom, I promise. I won’t fail English this term.” She knew how much college was, and that May had to put not only her through, but Bobbi as well - and Bobbi was a genius in her own right. 

Skye could afford a state school, but she’d be damned her older sister wasn’t going to change the world. She wouldn’t not let her. 

To her surprise, May laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re taking your studies so seriously,” she smiled. “Good job, honey. I’m proud. But what I was really going to say was that -” her eyes twinkled with mischief, and Fitz knew a bomb was about to be dropped. “Your sister took the same test last year, and she failed by a  _ lot  _ more than you did.” 

_ “MOM!”  _

Skye burst into laughter, nearly dropping her chopsticks. “Oh, this is too rich,” she guffawed, clutching the tablecloth for support. “You see,” she gasped out, cheeks red, “this is what you get when you tell on me. Fucking karmic retribution. Wait, Mom.” She turned to May, who had a corner of her mouth quirked up. “What did she get?”

“Bobbi?”

“Igotasixty.”

“Sorry, you’re going to have to speak up,” Skye smirked smugly. “Didn’t quite catch the sound of your failure,” 

“I got a fucking sixty, okay, Skye?” Bobbi flushed and attacked her rice with vigor. Skye let out a last chuckle before turning back to her food. “And don’t act like you’re so high and mighty. I wasn’t the one that couldn’t pick her jaw up off the ground this morning.”

Mack thought it hadn’t been possible for Skye to turn redder, but she did. “What?” This time, it was May’s turn to look amused. “What happened this morning?” 

“Jade Wong’s back from boarding school,” Bobbi said, relishing how Skye looked up in shock, chicken halfway to her mouth. 

“You know who she  _ is _ ?” she asked in awe, the chicken slipping from her chopsticks and onto the plate with a THUNK. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Does she come here? Does she come here a lot?” There was sauce all over her chin, but she ignored it. “Oh god, what if she comes here and recognizes me? She’s gonna see I work at a restaurant in my spare time - uh, no, Mom, I promise I’m not ashamed of working here, I promise! - oh, this sucks,” This time, she plunked her face into her plate as only a dramatic fifteen-year-old could. 

Everyone stared at her in silence. 

“So that’s who Skye was ranting about this afternoon,” Mack said finally as the meal resumed. “I gotta say, Hope was  _ not  _ impressed.” He went on to recount how Skye had barrelled into their apartment as she had every afternoon for the last eight years, babbling immediately about the new girl while they waited for Hope to come back from school. The eight-year-old had given Skye one look and told her to ‘just write her a note, Skye’. 

May, meanwhile, was looking over at her youngest daughter in contemplative silence. So Skye thought about girls. That was new. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the revelation, especially since the only people she’d come home raving about (according to Bobbi) were boys. There’d been Miles in the fourth grade, Tripp when she was thirteen (poor boy, she’d heard that avalanche had been devastating), and most recently, Grant Ward. This was the first time a girl’s name had even come  _ out  _ of Skye’s mouth, and needless to say, May was a little shaken. 

But then she thought about how Skye’d stuck close to Bobbi throughout the years, always quick to defend and first to blush whenever someone brought up her first daughter’s looks. How she’d constantly pushed Bobbi at whatever boy had shown even the  _ slightest  _ interest in her. Skye’s phases of interest in different actresses, quite a few of them bearing a resemblance to her older sister.

Her revelation didn’t seem like much of one after that. Although she’d seen the way Bobbi looked at boys - she and Kara both. The pair of best friends had been googly-eyed for boys since they’d been able to talk together. Bobbi loved her sister, May knew, but she could never love her in the way Skye wanted her to. She wasn’t sure who to be mad at there - after all, how could one be mad at one daughter for not being able to love another? How long had Skye been sitting on that, she wondered. How long had she been stuck in that cycle of hope and self-rejection? Had she even looked at it like that? 

May just hoped Skye would be able to talk to someone before it was too late. She wouldn’t offer herself up by a long shot - one, she’d probably do more harm than good and two, she was  _ definitely  _ not a good choice to talk to - but she’d wait for her daughter to figure it out and tell her on her own terms. “Mack?” she muttered to the hulking security guard while Skye was having a playful argument with Bobbi. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Mack studied both girls for a minute before turning back to her. “Which part? The one where Skye’s trying to figure herself out or her crush on Bobbi? Because the latter’s been coming for a while now.” May rolled her eyes. “What? It was a reasonable question.”

She knew there was a reason he was in her will. She would never marry him - they’d both agreed it wasn’t like that, and she’d never encroach on Nicole - but she trusted him all the same. “Glad to know I’m not the only one. But keep an eye on Skye, will you? Bobbi mentioned last week that she was beating herself down again. I just want to know she’d taking initiative to work on herself, is all.” Mack nodded. 

“Time for dessert!” Fitz called from the kitchen, and the table as a whole perked up, wondering what he’d cooked up this time. All of them didn’t even bother to suppress their groans when Fitz plonked down a plate full of orange slices. “Fruit!” 

“Fuck you, Fitz,” Skye muttered, reaching for some slices all the same. “I was hoping for an actual dessert.” 

“Make your own desserts, Skye,” Fitz scoffed back, mussing her hair. She smacked at him with sticky juice hands. “I’m just a chef and you know it.” 

“Well, this has been fun,” Bobbi declared dramatically, standing up. “But I’ve got to go, there is some ugly-ass AP Lit calling my name.” She grabbed her plate and ran to the kitchen before coming back out to hug May. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll catch you later.” 

Skye frowned at her sudden departure. “Yeah...I’ve got, uh...I’ve got some Thoreau to annotate...won’t annotate itself, y’know?” She stood up and returned her plate almost as quickly as Bobbi had, following her older sister up the stairs. “Thanks, Mom! Bye, Mack! See you tomorrow!”

It was only after both girls had left that an earlier fact reintroduced itself into May’s head. “Huh. Jade Wong’s back from boarding school?” Good. At least she’d get a chance to start making fried shrimp again.

* * *

 

“Bobbbbbbiiiii,” Skye was ready to chuck her Thoreau packet across the room after only a mere twenty minutes. Why would anyone want to give up life and move into the woods, anyways? Social life went kaput that way. Mosquitos sucked. And she was pretty sure there was jail time for anyone that didn’t pay their taxes. “Can you do my Thoreau for me?” It was a reasonable request. Bobbi loved anything wordy and difficult to decipher. It was kind of like her, Skye mused. And she loved deciphering things. 

Just. Just not Thoreau. 

“I did your Scarlett Letter for you last time, and look where that got you.” Skye huffed from the top of her bunk, sending Bobbi a glare downwards towards the desk. “Maybe if you read the packet this time, you’ll get better than a 78 on the test.” 

“Yeah? And who did yours?” she retorted absentmindedly, and uncapped another highlighter.  “Kara? That’s probably the only reason you did so badly on the test.” She didn’t notice that Bobbi had silently climbed up the ladder until the blonde tackled her, leaving a giant streak of highlighter across the text.

“Take it back!” Bobbi shouted, tickling Skye in the sides. Her sister burst into laughter, trying to wiggle away while at the same time trying not to fall off of their bed. “Take it back, you lil shit! Take it back! How dare you insult my best friend!”

“No - take - backsies - Bobbi!” One of Bobbi’s blows caught her stomach, and Skye absolutely wheezed with laughter. “Lemme go!” If she kept going, Bobbi would probably notice the slight flush creeping up her cheeks, or the prickles that were running over her skin. She had to make sure she didn’t. “Okay, okay, I take it back!”

“You take it back?” Bobbi sat on Skye’s legs, watching as her sister tried to catch her breath and rearrange her ponytail. Grinning, she picked up the Thoreau packet. Skye’s eyes grew wide. “Take it back or this turns into two pieces.”

“Tear that into two and I’ll tell Mom about the time you ate all of her pita chips!” Bobbi froze. “Yeah, the time when you drank all of the  _ special edition beers  _ she got from Vegas.” Skye cemented her blackmail with a smirk. “You know. The ones she threatened to kill someone over?” 

Bobbi tossed the packet back in disgust, smirking when it hit Skye in the face. No amount of Thoreau was worth dying. “I’m telling Kara you said that, by the way.” Sure, she’d tell Kara - but that didn’t mean Skye had to know it was true. Besides. Civil disobedience  _ was  _ the way to go. “And it’s not like I don’t have dirt on you.”

“You’re my sister, I tell you everything on purpose,” Skye said, flipping the packet open back to the appropriate page. “You ain’t Sherlock, honey.” 

“Oh, really? I think I’d remember if you told me you weren’t completely straight.” 

Something panged in Skye’s chest then, almost willing for her to acknowledge some sort of truth way inside of her. She just wasn’t sure of what. “What do you mean? Of course I’m straight.” She was, right? She’d had a crush on Miles, on Tripp. And sure, Grant Ward was out of her reach, but that didn’t mean she  _ couldn’t  _ drool over him. “I’m straight, Bob. Straighter than Mom’s hair when she permed it for Davis’ wedding.” Yeah. She was straight. 

“Honey,  _ I’m  _ straight.” Bobbi frowned and sat cross-legged at the end of Skye’s bed. “Your jaw was on the ground today when you saw Jade Wong on that motorbike.”

Skye let out a sharp huff. “Girls can appreciate girls, you know! I just do it more externally than internally!” She capped the highlighter, brown eyes snapping defensively. “Just because I think Jade Wong’s gorgeous doesn’t mean I’m not straight!” Inside, her mind was spinning. Girls were pretty. Of course they were. Jade Wong was pretty. Maybe prettier than some (okay, a lot prettier), but that didn’t mean she wanted to  _ kiss  _ her or go  _ out  _ with her or anything. She didn’t. She’d rather go out with a cute guy that paid for her dates and brought her flowers...and maybe didn’t fawn over Bobbi before moving on to her. It really was never fair that they all considered her the sloppy seconds. “I’m straight, Bobbi. I don’t know where the  _ fuck  _ you got the idea that I was gay,  _ but I’m not _ .” 

“You can be both, Skye,” Bobbi’s eyes were soft, and she reached for her younger sister. “You don’t have to choose just one, either.” 

“Get out,” Skye said suddenly, shoving Bobbi away. She didn’t need _Bobbi,_ the pinnacle of _walking perfection_ , lecturing her on who to love. What was it to her, anyways? She was able to have whoever she wanted! She didn’t have to wait for them to get tired of her older sister’s disinterest and try and score for second best. _Everyone_ fell to their knees around Bobbi. She didn’t even have to try. 

Skye wasn’t sure she’d ever been so angry towards her sister. Not since the Vegas beer incident, when drunk Bobbi’d been foisted onto her by a group of her so-called friends.  _ No one  _ got to tell her who she loved. Especially not someone who made it look so  _ fucking easy,  _ not by someone who didn’t have a clue how she felt. 

“What the hell, Skye? I live here too!”

“GET OUT!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


	7. Amphibians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil gets doozied, Skye gets her laughs, and May is reassured.

“Coulson!”

Phil scooped up his lunch for the day (compliments of Skye's surprise box the day before, all heated up) and hightailed it towards the voice. “Coming, Roz!” More than once did his box nearly slip from his hands, only to be saved with a gasp and sigh of relief. “Coming, coming, coming, box, no -!” Another save. Phew. “On my way!”

“That really took you long enough,” Roz said tartly when Phil finally managed to skid into her office, his glasses askew and box in his hand. “Sit. That’s from May’s, I assume?” she asked when he hurriedly sat. A nod. “How’s that coming along?” 

Phil, who’d taken a giant bite of his rice (dunked in the ginger-scallion sauce he’d had that day with Mack, he’d gotten addicted to it) thinking Roz would give a lecture, hurriedly choked. “It’s going good, Ms. Price,” he said, swallowing when his boss looked anything but impressed. “I got to talk to Mack - you read his story, of course.” Roz nodded. “I’m planning on going back this afternoon and interviewing Davis and Piper, two of the servers there.”

“Good,” Roz said, picking at her nails before sparing him a careless glance. “And the main server? Sara, you said her name was?” 

“Her name’s Skye,” Phil corrected as gently as he could. Wow, this chicken was good. He’d have to pay Fitz a compliment when he headed over to May’s later.  _ Crunch.  _ He hadn’t expected it to have so many bones, though. Or be so tender. “She and her sister Bobbi are minors, so I’d have to get disclosure forms approved by Ms. May to get their interviews.”

He didn’t mention the ‘interviews’ he’d had with May in his spare lunches, the two of them talking about everything from Bobbi’s decision to go to NYU, her life as a child in the restaurant circuit, and occasionally May getting Phil to try new foods. At this point, he was sure he could’ve done a whole issue on her alone, with a whole section on his attempts to pull that enigmatic smile out of her. 

Roz picked up a carrot stick and bit into it with a crunch nothing like the one Phil had just made. This one spoke volumes of threats. “Get them as soon as you can. I want this exclusive done for the monthly issue.” Phil swallowed? Get interviews from...everyone? In the span of two weeks? And what was going to happen at the end of month, when Roz put him on another restaurant? He already knew there would never be another with a staff quite like May’s. “Chop chop, Phil. I don’t pay you to sit around and crunch on bones. Especially not for this issue. Your name’s going to be the only one on the bylines’.”

“Yes.” Phil gave himself a little shake to clear himself out of it. After all, this was what would be scoring him that dinner date. His own issue? That’d help too. “Perhaps you can come with me one day. To see for yourself, of course,” he backtracked when the Steely Eye of Doom swivelled towards him. “It’s not a date. It’s not even a luncheon of any kind!” Slowly, he picked up his box and backed towards the door. “Just two people who happened to be heading in the same direction and eating at the same place...yeah, I’m gonna go over now, your notes are noted, Ms. Price!” 

Well, he’d escaped again.  _ Crunch.  _ Geez. What kind of chicken had Skye told Fitz to put into the box?

* * *

 

“Phil,” To his surprise, May was the one that greeted him at the door this time, the bland scowl on her face morphing into the smallest smile upon seeing him. “What brings you here today? Skye, Bobbi and Fitz are in school at the moment, but I can see who’s in the kitchen to give you their story.” She wasn’t stupid. She knew that was all he was there for. She just couldn’t understand why he chose to show up when he  _ knew  _ both girls were in school. 

Phil just gave her a grin. “Can’t a guy just drop by to say hello?” He was rewarded with a faint blush on May’s cheek. “Besides, I wanted to get some comforting Chinese food. Every time I show up, Skye demands I try something new.” He’d also wanted to compliment Fitz on the chicken, but it seemed like that wasn’t about to happen. “Also, I was wondering if you could tell me what kind of chicken this was?” He held out the box to her. “It’s really tender, but it’s got a lot of bones. Can I get an order of it?”

May opened the box, raising her eyebrow at the rice mixture before catching sight of the meat. Her eyes widened fractionally, the corners of her mouth popping up just a bit before settling back down. “I’ll get you some dim sum instead,” she said, not looking up. “ _ Har gow, siu mai, har cheong, ngau cheong, dow fu fah!”  _ was shouted towards the kitchen before May shut the box and led Phil to their regular table by the window. “So, tell me, how’s your week been?”

“Roz wants me to get all of the interviews together for the monthly issue, which is coming up in a couple of weeks.” Phil said, the deadline hitting him for the first time. _That’s in two weeks. Oh my god. I have two weeks to interview, transcribe, write, and photograph. I’m never going to survive._ _I’m so fired._ “I. That’s in two weeks. Deadline’s in a week, then.” _I still have to write up legal documents for Bobbi and Skye, because god knows our legal department doesn’t have something like that, and I have to find a photographer to photograph the restaurant, there are legal documents for that, and it has to be on a day where everyone’s in, and I have to rush the proofing while making sure it’s flawless or Roz is gonna have my head -_

“Phil,” At some point, his chopsticks must’ve slipped from his hand, for the clatter shook him out of his stupor. May reached out and took his pale hand, neither of them fully processing the action. “Calm down. Look at me.” His hand shaking just a little, Phil slowly slid his eyes from a spot on the opposite wall and to May’s soft, brown ones, steady and all-seeing. Eventually, he found himself able to blink again, the sounds of his breathing coming back into his ears. “You’re gonna be okay. Tell me what you need.” 

Phil blinked back a few tears, letting out a shaky breath. “I - I need so much,” he admitted, his hand dropping from May’s. “There’s still so much to do that I haven’t done yet, and the final magazine proof needs to be submitted by the end of the week to the art department, and I have to have them rush so we can publish, so of course I’ve got to write all of your interviews and put up all of the legal documents and get someone to do photographs -”

“Phil.”

“Am I doing it again?” May nodded, the small smile appearing once more. “Sorry.”

“Hey, Piper, notepad,” The elder woman held out her hand, a pad of paper and pen immediately filling her clutches. “Thanks.” She turned back to Phil. “Okay. Tell me what you need, slowly and surely.”

“I need interviews with Fitz, Bobbi, Skye, Piper and Davis.” May nodded and scribbled onto the notepad. “I need to draw up legal documents for Bobbi and Skye, because they’re both minors and need legal consent.” More scribbling. “I need someone to come in and photograph you guys as well as the restaurant, I need legal documents drawn up for photographing the restaurant, and after I’ve transcribed the interviews, I need to write them up.”

“Okay, kay, and kay,” May nodded to herself before turning back to look at him. “I’ll get my lawyer to draw up the legal documents as well as get Skye and Bobbi to sign them before tomorrow’s out. I’ll also get a contract for photography of the restaurant drawn up, too, and I’ll sign that before tomorrow’s out.” Phil’s jaw dropped. “Oh, hush, Phil. We’re a Chinese restaurant that deals with the mafia on a weekly basis. You really think we wouldn’t have a lawyer?”

“I didn’t think you’d have to put him into power often?” 

“Foggy Nelson is one of the best. He’ll get it done before tomorrow. I’ll give Piper and Davis a half day so you can interview them tomorrow; make sure you write up their questions. Have questions ready for Bobbi, Skye and Fitz in a couple of days, I’ll be sure to get them the afternoon off. Anything else you need?” 

Phil paused. He’d already asked May for so much; any more and it’d be like he was leeching off of her. “Any chance you could get a photographer?” 

May turned. “Hey! Davis!” 

“What’s up, May?” The waiter in question set down a tray full of food for the senior citizens at the next table before jogging over. 

“How’s your wife?”

“Any day now,” Davis chuckled, and turned to Phil. “Thirty-eight weeks,” he explained. “We’re still not sure if we’re having identical or fraternal twins.” 

“Congratulations. First kids?”

“Absolutely,” Davis laughed a little. “I’ve already bought the coffee maker.” 

“Davis, you think she’d be up for a photography assignment?”

Davis’ eyes lit up. “Boy, would she! She’s been begging me to come out of the house for a month, ever since they made her go on maternity leave. She’s a kicker, that one. Wants to work as much as she can. She’s a photographer for the New York Times.” 

“Good. Ask her if she’d be willing to come in and shoot the restaurant on...” May checked her notepad. “Does Friday work?”

“Does Fitz like burning people’s stomach linings?”

“That’s a yes.” May gave him a grin. “I think I hear customers calling your name, Davis. Better not be neglecting your duties.” 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” Davis dashed off, leaving Phil with an impressed smile.

“You’ve got your employees wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

“It’s one of the advantages of being my own boss,” May replied, the smile still on her face. “I can treat my staff the way I’d want to be treated. Plus, his mother and mine get along famously.” She shuddered jokingly. “I still remember the time we held that mahjong tournament.” Skye still liked to remind her about the money she owed. 

Phil couldn’t help but smile at the look on May’s face. She was a woman with her heart on her restaurant, it seemed. It hadn’t been long, but he wasn’t able to imagine going a day without trying to coax it out of her. “Sounds like she cleaned you out.” 

“Are you kidding?” May snorted. “She cleaned Bobbi and I out and  _ nearly  _ cleaned out Skye.” Phil tried to think about the three of them, identical looks of horror on their faces as piles of change got swept from them and into the arms of an unidentified woman. It made him snort a little. “We nearly went bankrupt. I’m never inviting Mrs. Davis to mahjong again.”

Their dim sum arrived, both of them easily falling into conversation about the previous week - May reporting the damage done by the mafia, Phil rambling about his week with Roz - and it was only when Phil was regaling her with the story of the lesbian restaurant owners versus the most conservative Bible Belt customers that May remembered Skye. 

“Phil,” she said suddenly, accidentally cutting him off during one of his better impressions of the wife. “What do you know about being gay?” There was a long silence between the two of them while Phil tried valiantly to keep his piece of  _ har gow  _ in his chopsticks. It was long enough that May wanted to take back the question as soon as she’d asked. What if Phil was a homophobe? Or he was gay himself and she hadn’t gotten to know him well enough to know? 

“Uh.”  _ Good job, Phil. Eloquence that’ll really get the lady.  _ “Not much?” He knew that Kara Palamas over in Accounting was bisexual. And despite their best attempts at glowering, the office romance between Isabelle Hartley from HR and Victoria Hand from Art was the best fairy tale any of them had heard in their entire lives. “I have a couple of coworkers?” He caught May gnawing at her lip. “Why, what’s wrong?”

May sighed. Well, at least Phil knew someone. That’d been better than consulting a clueless Mack, at least. She hadn’t had time to ask Bobbi yet, her eldest daughter still reeling from Skye’s sudden reaction to her a few days ago and trying to balance the elements of her life. “It’s Skye.”

Phil nodded sagely, and the confession felt thick on May’s tongue. Why was it so hard to force the words out? “I think...”  _ Work, tongue, goddammit.  _ “I think she’s gay.” 

“Do...you?” Phil didn’t really have any words for that response. Surprise was hardly appropriate, especially given that the only interactions he’d had with Skye had to do with food and being a regular. (Which, he realized, he was fast becoming.) “I mean.” He cleared his throat. “What makes you think that?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking about this girl from school,” May said, sighing heavily. She’d never pictured Skye coming home with a girl, for all of her worries and thoughts about her youngest daughter. She’d thought of plenty of scenarios - where Skye came home with a delinquent, a nerd, even a member of the Chinese mafia - but never a girl. It wasn’t that she was opposed to it. She’d just never thought about it. “But she never talked about girls before now!” That was the main point. What had brought it on? “She always talked about boys, it was Tripp this and Miles that...What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking, you know?” 

“If I may?” Phil didn’t even have time to smile at his pun as he gently took May’s hand. She was too distraught to notice the gentle cage her fingers were now trapped in, although if she had, she probably wouldn’t have been complaining. “I don’t think Skye’s gay, either.”

“You don’t?” May frowned. “Then what’s with the talk about girls?”

“I...” Phil inhaled, trying to best figure out how to phrase it. “I think Skye’s bisexual. It means she likes boys and girls.” He could see the idea trying to settle itself into May’s head, smiling at the small crinkle above her nose. “Has she told you about any of this yet?”

May shook her head. “I wouldn’t expect her to talk to me about it, either.” Phil raised his eyebrow. “First of all, no one comes out to their  _ parents  _ first. Second,” She laughed a little. “I’m not the best person to talk to about it, you know? I came from a culture that banished the idea. I’m old. And Skye...” She remembered Bobbi’s sudden appearance in the kitchen late that night, eyes red-rimmed. “I don’t think she’s quite figured it out for herself yet. Bobbi had an...incident with her the other day.” 

Phil gently squeezed her hand and May jolted, as if realizing they were holding hands for the first time. Still, he didn’t let go - it was tough, having to rethink their child’s entire life. “She’ll tell you on her own time,” he said reassuringly. “It might not be as simple as sitting you down and saying ‘Mom, I’m bi’, but she’ll tell you all the same. Just -” Phil flashed back to the rainbow tacos Kara had served them on her coming out (and consequently giving them all food poisoning). “Whatever unconventional way she does it, try to be aware that this is the way  _ she  _ feels comfortable doing it.”  

May nodded silently. “Phil? Thanks.” Now that she had tips on her side (Melinda May had  _ never  _ done anything without consulting experts for tips, including running her own restaurant), she felt more organized, more at peace. “I...I don’t know what I’d do without you.” This, and Bobbi’s intense desire to go to NYU. Phil was really a good hand when it came to tackling her big issues, it seemed. 

Phil gently pulled his hand back, the promise of support still echoing in his almost-translucent blue eyes. May stared at them for a few long minutes, not wanting to look away. 

“Did you want a takeout box?”

Both of them jumped at Piper’s voice, the waitress standing by their table with a look that was two parts embarrassment and one teeny sliver amusement. How could she not? Melinda May, finally finding someone in her life. And he wasn’t on the carpet yet. Bonus. 

“Uh, yeah...if I could,” Phil nervously scratched the back of his neck. He’d gotten  _ way  _ too close there. 

“Make it two,” May said, her eyes flickering over the uneaten food on the table. “And Piper, tell Davis you two are having half days tomorrow. Phil wants your stories.” Piper nodded and skipped off to the kitchen, returning a moment later with more takeout boxes. 

It was only when Phil was boxing the freshly made food that he noted the original box he’d brought, still slightly warm and resting at May’s left elbow. “Hey, May? You never told me what kind of chicken Fitz made for me.”

May turned and frowned at the box, trying to recall the earlier conversation before pursing her lips in a silent ‘ah’. “See, Phil, here’s the thing. That’s not chicken Skye gave you.”

“It’s not?” It certainly  _ had  _ tasted like chicken. 

“It’s not.” May grinned, whipping her phone out so she could record the next couple of seconds. “It’s toad.” The horrified look on Phil’s face was  _ so  _ getting a place as her lock screen later. 


	8. Xiaolong Bao, Order 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's fire, the GSA, and an unassuming Phil.

May’s was a market of activity that morning. In addition to the regulars that came in for their midweek dimsum (and the occasional group of teenagers skipping school), servers raced to and fro cleaning tables, checking dishes for chips, and in general tried to keep the day chef from having a meltdown. 

The first two they were doing fine with. The third? Not so much.

“May, I swear, you need to do whatever it takes to poach Fitz once he’s graduated,” Mack muttered as he dodged yet another flying plate from the kitchen. “I know Chan Ho’s great with fire dishes and all, but he keeps treating us like he  _ creates  _ fires out of his hand.”

“You’re right, as usual,” May grumbled from under a table ten feet away. “I’ll fire him as soon as I can find another chef. But you do have to admit -” Both of them winced when the telltale  _ whoosh  _ of fire was heard. “He is pretty good at his fire dishes.”

_ “Wǒ shì huǒ zhī shén!”  _ The eye rolling in the restaurant was almost palpable.  _ “ _ _ Zài wǒ de tǒngzhì xià nǐmen dōu bù chóng yào!”  _

Several pots clattered to the kitchen floor, and Mack and May peered out from under their respective tables to see Chan storming out of the restaurant, his coat splattered in grease. The dining room was silent. Even the teenagers hadn’t bothered to catch the incident on Snapchat. Not until the small bell on the door tinkled did someone begin to clap, the rest of the restaurant joining in. 

Mack crawled out from under the table. “I’m too old to be taking cover like this.” Several joints popped and crackled, much to the alarm of Mrs. Lao three feet away. 

“You know, you wouldn’t have to had taken cover if you’d been doing your job,” May shot back cheekily, chuckling when the security guard shot her the middle finger. “Nah. I got him with the restaurant. He always seemed kind of weird. Burned my food a lot.” 

Slowly, business at the restaurant turned back to normal, carts rushing around and chatter rising in the room with the steam. May went to go check on the damage in the kitchen. A couple of broken plates, some burnt pots. Nothing she couldn’t deal with. Phew. The last time Chan’d thrown a tantrum, he’d smashed all of their sauce dishes. (Why had she hired him back after that, anyways?) 

“May?” Davis called. “Who’s going to make the  _ xiaolong bao  _ for tonight if Chan’s gone?” May froze, half-stopping herself from jumping into the nearest vat of vegetable oil. Of  _ course  _ they’d lost their fiery chef on  _ xiaolong bao  _ night. And it wasn’t like she could keep the competition from going on. May’s Annual  _ Xialong Bao  _ Eating Extravaganza drew crowds from all over the city. Some even came from out of state to witness the carnage. 

What was she going to  _ do? _

“May!” Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, Phil’s chipper voice sounded from the kitchen door, way too bright and optimistic for her current situation.  _ Right.  _ Piper and Davis were on half days today. “What’s up?”  _ You poaching two of my own when I need them is what’s up _ , May wanted to snap. But she knew that as much as she was on a deadline, so was he. 

So she forced herself to breathe and turn around with a smile. “Phil,” she said, grimacing internally at the amount of cheeriness she’d put into her voice. “Here to interview Piper and Davis?”  _ Of course he is, you idiot,  _ a voice in the back of her head whispered.  _ He’s not here to see you.  _ “Let me get you your table.” That stupid smile on her face, she led him into the dining room. “It’s kind of crowded here, I apologize,” she called. “There was a bit of drama this morning.” 

Mack snorted from the door. “ _ A bit.  _ And my wife’s still alive.” Phil gave him a bit of an alarmed look then. “It’s been long enough,” Mack said ruefully. “If I can’t joke about it now, what  _ can  _ I do?” 

“Piper! Davis!” May hollered to the kitchen. “Interview!” When both servers inevitably dashed over to the table, she nodded. “When you’re done, I need you back in the kitchen. Prep for tonight’s gonna be an all-hands-on deck now that Chan’s gone. Mack, I need you to do Bobbi and Skye’s homework tonight. I need their hands, too.” When the taller man begun to protest, she shushed him. “It’s Thoreau. Man goes off to live in a hut in the middle of nowhere. And it’s  _ The Awakening _ . Woman discovers her sexuality because her husband’s an asshole. Drowns herself. Let me know if you have any more questions.” 

“Tonight?” Four pairs of eyes turned to look at Phil. “What’s tonight?” 

“May’s Annual  _ Xiaolong Bao  _ Eating Extravaganza,” Piper answered with relish before May could. “For years, May’s Golden Dragon has been hosting the GOAT of  _ xiaolong bao  _ eating competitions. Everyone who participates has to make their way through ten levels of  _ xiaolong bao _ , or soup dumplings.” 

“Each level has an increasing number of spiciness, all the way up to ten, when Fitz puts in his ghost peppers.” A shudder went around the present company, remembering their taste testing the other night. “If you eat all 150 dumplings - fifteen dumplings per level - first, you’re officially declared the winner.” 

Phil looked pale. “And who’s won in the last few years?” 

Davis gestured proudly to May, who suddenly found the ground very interesting. “She almost lost to one of the Keonig brothers a few years ago,” he whispered. “But she straightened up at the last minute, threw  _ three  _ level tens in her mouth, and swallowed them down without drinking a single thing.” 

Piper was pretty sure she had to pick Phil’s jaw up off of the floor. “You know, it’s a pretty interesting event,” she hinted. “It’s a great part of May’s history, too. You should come tonight. I’m sure May would  _ love  _ to give you the scoop about the event beforehand, too.” The look May shot her was would’ve been pure venom, had it not been for the slight blush tinging her cheeks. 

But Phil had other ideas, apparently. “It’ll make for a cooler special if it was from my point of view,” he shrugged. “I’ll enter, if that’s okay?” This time it was May’s jaw Piper worried about picking up off of the floor. To be honest, hers was dropping a little, too. Newbies didn’t just  _ waltz  _ into the Eating Extravaganza! Not even if they were newbies trying to win the heart of her boss. 

“Uh. Yeah.” May shook her head. “I’m just going to be in the kitchen, prepping  _ xiaolong bao _ . I’ll bring you some to eat.” With that, she was off to the kitchen, bumping into a few tables on her way. 

“I daresay you just flustered the unflappable Melinda May,” Davis said casually, pulling out Piper’s chair for her before sitting down. “Now, Phil. What can we do for you?”

* * *

_ “I heard she was gay.”  _

_ “No way, girl like her? Gotta be straight.”  _

_ “You’re just saying that ‘cause you know you don’t have a chance.”  _

The whispers floated around Skye’s ears, and she frowned, absentmindedly shoving a piece of pizza in her mouth while trying to concentrate. Who were they talking about? 

_ “Look, Wong couldn’t be gayer than if she’d showed up wearing flannel, leather boots, and yelled ‘GAY’ when they called her name. Trust me. Trust the gaydar.” _

Jade Wong. The pizza suddenly felt slimy and rubbery in Skye’s mouth, and she spit it out. Kara gave her a weird look, but Skye just shook her head, and the other girl went back to talking their friend Raina’s ear off.

Jade Wong was gay.  _ Supposedly,  _ the small voice in the back of her head reminded her. (For some reason, it sounded an awful lot like Bobbi.)  _ Rumors are rumors, Skye.  _

And yet, for such rumors, she was certainly intrigued. 

There was only one place the LGBTQ congregated in school, she knew. Her friend Joey went every week without fail. Speaking of which... “Hey. Ramirez.” Joey turned, a piece of pizza halfway to his mouth. “First of all, gross. No one puts mango on pizza. But do you know if Jade Wong goes to GSA?” 

“You have a crush on her.” It was funny how Joey was so blunt - Skye spent too much time around people that, for some reason, insisted on walking on eggshells around her. It was probably why they were friends. “Aren’t you straight,  _ chica _ ?” 

“I am!” Skye blurted out automatically.  _ Maybe,  _ the same voice added. “Shut up, Bobbi,” she muttered under her breath. Joey gave her a weird look. “Sorry. Voice in my head. So. Jade Wong? GSA? I just want to get to know her better, I  _ promise _ ,” she said.  _ Yeah. Know better who blessed her with those genetics. Damn, they’re good.  _ “It’s a gay-straight alliance! I’m...the straight alliance!”

“Uh-huh.” Joey looked her as dubiously as he had when she’d denounced his mango pizza. “Sure you are.” It was only a matter of time before she found out, anyways. After all, he could only spend so many days listening to Skye talk about Bobbi. “And to answer your question, yes. Jade Wong goes to GSA. And yes, we have a meeting this afternoon. I’ll take you.” He nearly dropped his pizza when Skye grabbed his arm, squealing something that sounded weirdly like  _ thank you thank you thank you gracias thank you!  _

The rest of the day seemed to pass by like molasses to Skye, who was on her toes waiting for the day to end. Finally, she was going to be in the same room as Jade Wong. Hopefully it was going to be without losing her cool, but if it went the same way as meeting any of her other crushes, she’d probably be a stuttering mess. 

_ Wait. Crushes? Nah. Just a girl admiring another girl...admiring her hair. Her eyes. Does she have abs? Jesus. Admiration, Skye. You don’t want to touch them...no. Stop. You’re. Straight.  _ Despite all of her talk earlier at lunch, it’d still taken Joey several tries to drag Skye into the room, “I thought you wanted to do this,” he hissed. “Quit dragging your heels!” 

“I do!” Skye exclaimed, still remaining nervously at the doorway. “It’s just - I -” When she walked into that room, her label as a high schooler would change forever. She’d be known as a member of the GSA. No longer would she just be Skye, Bobbi’s sister. She’d be Skye, Bobbi’s sister  _ and  _ member of the GSA. She’d have something to her own. 

“Going in?” 

Skye turned to see amused green eyes twinkling down at her. A dark mane of hair tumbled over her right shoulder, almost reminiscent of the woman having swept a helmet off of her head... She gasped. Of course Jade Wong would show up when she was having a revelation.

Jade mistook the gasp of awe for something else, however, for the twinkle in her eyes disappeared, and she just pushed past Skye for a seat. Skye, watching her chances storm off into the distance, was already halfway to catching up to her. “Wait! Wait!” She skidded into the seat next to Jade’s before some freshman could catch it, waving off their glare. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, trying in vain to get Jade’s attention. “Did I do something to offend you?” 

“Look, you can just cut right to the chase,” Jade deadpanned, lazily glaring at the sophomore. “Yeah, I was kicked out of boarding school. Yeah, I’m gay. No, I haven’t been in an orgy with Lena Luthor, that’s a rumor, and yeah, I’m a Gold Star Lesbian. Any more questions I haven’t heard yet?” 

All Skye could manage was a squeak. Dear god, she’d embarrassed herself more than she could ever imagine doing. If only Bobbi could see her now. Her sister’d probably be in stitches and rolling on the ground. “I - I didn’t - I didn’t know, I’m sorry -”

Jade snorted again. “You didn’t know? Sure, and I wasn’t adopted.” When Skye was still red, refusing to look at her at all, she frowned. “Did you really not know?” Who was this girl, who hadn’t taken stock into any of the rumors being spread around school? Or, even better, something Jade dared not hope for - she didn’t believe them? “Have you heard the rumors?”

“I just heard a glimpse of them at lunchtime,” Skye replied, her eyes still wide. “I never believe them, anyways. They’re too speculative to be true.” It was her turn to give Jade the stink-eye. “ _ Are  _ they true?” 

“I told you everything they’ve made up rumors about,” Jade said flatly. “Kicked out. Gay. No orgy. Gold Star. That’s the truth, cold as stone.”

“Why’d you get kicked out?” 

The corners of Jade’s mouth ticked up into a smirk, one that made Skye just a little weak in the knees. “Let’s just say they didn’t approve of... _ certain  _ preferences.”  _ Oh _ , Skye thought. Jade Wong really was gay... “Caught me with Veronica Sinclair, but I didn’t have enough money to get it covered up.” 

“Alright, if we can get started today,” The teacher at the front, Mr. Jones, clapped his hands, causing the classroom to fall silent. “I see we have a few new faces.” A kind smile was directed at Skye, who blushed and looked down. “As most of you know, today’s the day when we do the pairings. For those of you who are unaware, this is when we pair our allies and LGBTQ friends. If you can pick your partners, great! If you can’t, then come on up and pick out of the appropriate hat, please.” Chairs shuffled against tile floor as swarms of kids walked up to the hat, some of the older kids already exchanging affirmations across the room. 

Jade, for her part, looked at Skye, who seemed frozen to her seat. “Hey,” she whispered. Skye didn’t move a single move. “Hey. You. Kid that doesn’t believe in my rumors.” Brown eyes snapped to green. “Yeah. You. What are you?”

“Excuse me?” She was a lot of things, Skye thought indignantly. She was adopted. She was a proud Asian-American who could trash talk a senior citizen in chess and get her money’s worth over at the market every week. She was going to be comp sci major. She was going to be a kickass little sister who let her sister achieve great things. “What do you mean,  _ what am I _ ?” If Jade thought she was going to get away with offending her with that deadpan attitude, she could shove it right up her ass, admiration be damned. 

“Chill, kid.” Obviously, Jade had hit a nerve somewhere. It’d be interesting to find out just what. “I meant on the spectrum. You straight? Gay? Hella gay? Bi? Pan?”

“I.” Skye hadn’t even  _ considered  _ half of those terms. “I’m straight.” 

“Oh. Good. You’re my partner. We’re going to be the best of friends, I can tell.” Even though the words had been deadpanned, giddiness flooded through Skye faster than endorphins. She’d get to admire Jade Wong up close. Jade freaking Wong. “So, what do you like to do for fun,  _ best friend _ ?” 

“Well, I’m trying to become a comp sci major,” Skye said shyly, twirling her hair around her fingers. Jade chuckled, giving her a fond smile. “I kinda just code and do nerdy shit for fun.” She wasn’t about to mention the part about working at May’s. Oh, no. Half of the school already knew she did it. She didn’t need her new best friend learning that. “But tell me about you. I’m sure you’re  _ fascinating _ .” That’s what she’d come for, hadn’t she? 

“Me?” Skye’s nod was so fast it was almost like her head had been replaced with a bobble’s. “There’s...there’s not a lot to tell.” No one had really bothered to get to know her since she’d arrived, losing interest once they’d confirmed the rumors. Jade bit her lip. “What do you want to know?” 

_ Why do you look so pretty? How do you look so pretty? Can you teach me to ride you...your bike?  _ Skye shook her head. “What’s your favorite color?” 

Jade’s laugh caused everyone to turn and stare. “That’s what you want to know?” she asked incredulously. She had to admit, it was pretty refreshing. “You could literally ask me anything you wanted to know, and you ask me that?” Still, the hopeful look on Skye’s face didn’t cease. “It’s blue. I’ve always wanted to find someone with blue eyes. Something about them, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Bobbi’s eyes were that pretty. She’d told her sister as much. “Like the sea and the sky at the same time, right?”

Jade nodded. “What’s your favorite food?”

Skye paused. “I...have a lot of favorite foods?” There. That was a safe answer. One that didn’t reveal she worked at a Chinese restaurant. “My mom tries to take me for new foods whenever she can, y’know?” 

“I knew there was a reason you looked familiar.” Jade’s grin was wide, dazzling. Skye stared, unblinking. There was  _ no  _ way she was coming back from that smile. It was so pretty. How did she have such even teeth? “Don’t you work at May’s?” 

The younger girl slumped. Was it too much to ask of the world that  _ one  _ person know when the decided to tell them? (Apparently.) “Yeah. Melinda May’s my mom. How’d you know?” After all, if a new girl could know just after a week, surely everyone else knew. 

“I recognized you,” Skye’s head snapped up and was met with the smile once again. It was kind of like looking at the sun. If the sun was bright white, that is. “It’s not a bad thing,” Jade said quietly, patting Skye’s arm.  _ Oh my god, she’s patting my arm. Calm, Skye. Calm.  _ “You have a job, and you’re making money. That’s a lot more than half of the idiots around here can say, y’know?” 

The bell rang then, saving Skye from any further humiliation. “Okay, if you’re done getting to know your new partner, I hope you’ll have a lot of fun with them in  _ and  _ out of school,” Mr. Jones called, clapping his hands. “I hope to see you all next week!” Students began filing out, and Skye was about to follow when she was stopped by a hand on her elbow. 

“Getting rid of me so soon?”  _ Even her eyes twinkle. Shit. Straight.  _ “I don’t even know your name.”  _ That fucking smirk.  _ “I don’t let pretty girls go without knowing their names.” 

“Skye. Skye May.” 

“Skye,” Jade rolled her name around her tongue, and a burst of happiness exploded from nowhere in Skye’s chest. “Well, Skye May, if you’re going to be my new best friend, you can maybe at least give me your phone number.” In the twinkles lay a little bit of sincerity, pleading, and - was that hope? Skye shook her head and handed her phone over, unlocked and set to a new contact. Best not think about that now. 

She got it back thirty seconds later with Jade’s name, number, and a silly selfie set as her contact photo. “I’m trusting you to text me, May,” were the taller girl’s parting words. “If not, I know where to find you.” 

Skye half stumbled all the way home. 


	9. Xiaolong Bao, Order 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil proves to be a surprising opponent, Skye learns a little more, and the entire restaurant has their brackets broken.

“Skye! Where the hell have you been?” 

When she’d gotten home from the GSA meeting (not thinking about Jade Wong the entire way, no, that would be  _ very  _ inappropriate, not to mention irresponsible), Skye’d expected there to be some chaos. After all, she knew tonight was the  _ xiaolong bao  _ eating competition - there were multiple orders of  _ bao  _ to be made. She expected one chef to be running around the kitchen - Chan, probably, but that was a regular Tuesday - but she certainly didn’t expect  _ three _ , Fitz, her mother, and Bobbi all folding together soup buns so fast their hands were blurred. 

Bobbi had that fierce proud look about her whenever she was hurried, Skye mused, watching the scene. At the moment, the taller blonde had thrown her hair into a ponytail that swung halfway down her back. She’d alway wondered where Bobbi had gotten her walk, the powerful one that exuded authority without her sister even needing to try. 

A walk that, she realized too late, signaled the beginning of a tirade. 

“I sent you a million texts!” She’d always loved when Bobbi’s eyes snapped at someone else. It usually meant they were in for a dressing down. Not so much this time. Skye guiltily checked her phone to find said messages. There they were, nestled in the upper left hand corner of her notifications bar. Whoops. “What happened?”

“I -”  _ I stopped to get a kitten out of a tree. I got detention. Grant Ward asked me out.  _ Skye snorted to herself. As much as she wanted that to happen, using  _ that  _ as an excuse would probably bring down the wrath of her sister and mother combined. 

“Well?” Bobbi demanded. When her sister showed no sign of answering anytime soon, she sighed. “Come on. Chan quit, and we’re really behind on  _ bao _ , which you would know if you’d checked your texts.” Thankful to be spared blurting out the truth -  _ I had Joey take me to GSA because I heard Jade Wong was going to be there -  _ Skye followed Bobbi into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves before dumping her bag in a corner. 

“Glad you could finally join us, Skye,” Fitz’s exasperation was right on par with Bobbi’s, it seemed. “I need more level sevens. No one does ‘em like you do,” 

Skye nodded and busied herself scooping out the jellied meat, plopping it into the floured skin before pleating it together. She’d been making  _ xiaolong bao  _ since she’d been old enough to be trusted in the kitchen. Her hands pleated the skins as if they were on autopilot, giving her mind the opportunity to wander. 

She still couldn’t believe the turn of luck she’d had this afternoon. First, to have run into Jade Wong at a GSA meeting. It’d been like it was meant to be. Secondly, to have effortlessly been assigned as her buddy. 

Whatever good karma Skye had committed, she’d have to pay it forward soon. Obviously, she’d done  _ something  _ good to have been able to fall into the orbit of those green eyes. The rumors had always described them as being flinty, piercing, as if they’d been left in a snowstorm. And just like her sister, Jade was all self-assured confidence with a soft spot that one could fin if they were close enough. 

_ Jade and Bobbi would be good together,  _ she thought, setting down another dumpling.  _ If Bob wasn’t completely straight.  _ Her next grasp met the clang of a bowl, and she looked down at it, frowning. Huh. She’d probably done all of the level sevens on autopilot. 

“Oh, good, you’re done,” May bustled over, several bowls in her hands. “We haven’t even started on the general orders yet, and you’re my best pleater. Come help me.” She set them down, and quietly, the two of them were rolling, pinching and pleating. “Were’d you go this afternoon?”

“Stayed at school.” She didn’t know if Bobbi and her mother were colluding, but she’d prefer that the less people that knew, the better. “Went to a club I wanted to try out.” May nodded, scooping up some more meat. “I...” Saying she’d gone to the GSA wasn’t necessarily telling, was it? After all, it was the Gay- _ Straight  _ Alliance. “I went to GSA with Joey.” 

“Oh?” Good, May thought to herself. There were a lot of theories she didn’t trust the school system with - especially their East Asian historical studies - but she supposed she had no choice but to put her faith in their clubs. They would be better informants to Skye, anyways. And Joey - that was some news. “What did you think?”

“I think...” That it was probably one of the better instances of karma that’d happened to her as of late. That Jade Wong was a mystery she couldn’t wait to learn about. “I think that it’s good on the gay -  _ queer  _ kids there, cause there’s totally more than just gay kids, to know who they are - I mean that they know who they are! And that they’re not fumbling around with their identities or anything.” There. No better way to do it. 

May gave her a weird look, but folded the current dumpling in her hand anyways. “What about you?” The question was casual, but the weight behind it was heavy. “Were you able to decide who you are?”

The last of the meat was folded gracefully into a dumpling. “Straight,” Conviction, May noted. Perhaps she was simply making mountains out of molehills, and her daughter really  _ was  _ having a phase. “I’m straight, Mom.” Skye looked up. “Who d’you think’s going to win tonight?” 

“It’s cheating if you’re not rooting for me, is it?” May laughed. “But I’ll forgive you this year if you root for your friends.” 

“My friends?” Skye frowned. “I’m Hope’s babysitter, Mom. No one new’s competing, are they?” 

“I thought Bobbi would’ve told you,” Her mother frowned. “One of your classmates is competing this year. I think you two were talking about her last week or so? The Wongs’ daughter? Jade?”

But Skye’s heart had already dropped through her stomach.

* * *

 

Phil had never seen more red in his life than when he walked into May’s that night. Banners covered the already red walls, every table was covered in red, and someone had taken the liberty of making sure that the disco ball attached to the ceiling was radiating only red light.  _ I knew red was the lucky Chinese color, but this seems... _

“A little overkill?” Mack met him by the door, decked out in a red bib. “Yeah. But you can never have too much luck when you’re eating these things.” He handed Phil his own bib, which, he was surprised to find, had his name embossed onto it. “Lucky man, getting yours for free. People usually have to cough up fifteen bucks for one of these things.” He led Phil over to the table, where the other competitors sat. “Guys, this is Phil Coulson.” Several of them nodded in greeting. “He works for a paper.” 

“Newspaper man?” One of the older men turned to him, holding out his hand. Phil shook it, slightly nervous. “Name’s Andy Tai. Wife Ashley’s over here,” A sweep of the hand. “My two kids, Arthur and Angela.” 

“Phil Coulson.” Phil waved at the other three before looking down the table. Ten minutes and five handshakes of various strengths later, he’d scoped out his competition. There was Mack, of course, but there was also Hope. It was easy to see why she had her father wrapped around her little finger. Mack’s story hadn’t done her justice. 

“Daddy says I can’t have the higher levels until I’m  _ this  _ tall,” Hope pointed somewhere towards the ceiling. “That’s okay though, because he always falls to the ground when he eats an eight.” Phil stowed that mental fact away in his head. Never knew when he’d need it to boost his endurance. 

There were the Koenig brothers - he believed to be there about four in total - and there was absolutely no way to tell them apart. Billy, Sam, Eric, and Thurston all had the same general expression of bland interest on their faces, and probably would keep the same smile on their faces even when steam was coming out of their ears. 

Piper and Davis he’d waved to when he’d walked in, and Skye’d looked busy laughing with a raven-haired girl on the other end of the tables, Bobbi watching both of them like a hawk. Best not go near that. 

Mrs. Lao was easily their oldest competitor, but not lacking in spirit. She’d shaken Phil’s hand vigorously until he feared it’d come out of his arm socket. “You write good in the papers, yeah?” He nodded. “You good to Qiaolian. I can hurt you.” It probably left Phil more shaken than anything, because since  _ when  _ had he been involved with someone named Qiaolian...?

“She told you my Chinese name, didn’t she?” 

Phil turned to see May, decked out in her own bib and determined expression. Although it was sort of marred with embarrassment, the blush on her cheeks matching the night’s color scheme. “Qiaolian, yeah,” she said, answering Phil’s unspoken question. “It got relegated to my middle name when I came here. Can’t remember why exactly I chose it."

“You're competing tonight?” 

May snorted. “Of course. What kind of restaurant owner would I be if I didn’t compete in my own competitions?”

“A fair one?” Because really, May would’ve had years of practice eating the higher levels. Phil didn’t stand a chance. Not even against Hope Mackenzie. 

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. Get your pen, this is a scoop,” The twinkle in May’s eyes was enough to make Phil roll his own before reaching for his notebook. “Wow. I didn’t know you still  _ actually  _ used a notebook and pen. I was joking.”

“Some people use voice recorders. I like the notebook still.” He tucked his pen behind his ear instinctively, May’s eyes following it. “What’s your scoop, May?” 

May gave him an exasperated grin. “Well, every year, Fitz uses a different pepper for each of the higher levels, so there’s a new surprise in for you every year, regardless of whether you’re a veteran or a newbie.” When she saw Phil scribbling frantically, the grin grew wider. “Should I repeat that for you again? Just in case you didn’t catch it all?”

Phil tucked his pen behind his ear. “Nope.” It was his turn to grin at May. “I’m going to go get a sense of the atmosphere. You know, figure out just how many people are rooting for you to lose.” May gaped, offended. “Doesn’t feel so great now, does it?  _ Qiaolian? _ ”

“I’m going to demolish you, Phil Coulson.” 

“Sure,” He sent a parting wink her way before pulling Piper aside with him, the two of them going around to the tables. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready to rumble???  _ Nǚshìmen, xiānshēngmen, wǒmen zhǔnbèi hǎole ma? _ ” Fitz’s loud voice swept over the dining room, causing all of them to look towards the chef. “Welcome to May’s  _ Xiaolong Bao  _ Eating Extravaganza!” 

“I guess that’s our cue,” May said with a small smile. “You ready to get your ass whooped, Phil?”

There was no way in hell he was going to lose.  “You’re on, May.”

* * *

 

The entire restaurant had been thrown into a frenzy.

Hope had tapped out first, to no one's surprise. (Fitz made it a habit every year to lessen the usual amount of spice in her dumplings - what kind of chef would he be if he didn't give a 7 year old a fighting chance?) Davis had followed (again due to Fitz, who’d spiked his with an unnecessary amount of sriracha), then Piper, Angela Tai, one of the Koenig brothers, Arthur Tai, Mrs. Lau, another one of the Koenig brothers and both Tai parents. Skye, Bobbi, Jade, Phil, May, two of the Koenigs and Mack all remained, most of them beginning to reach the upper levels of dumpling spiciness.

While a lot of the patrons had filled out their brackets accordingly,  _ none  _ of them had expected Phil. 

“Is this how it turns out every year?” Phil muttered to Bobbi, who’d winced upon throwing the last of the level sixes into her mouth. He was in the midst of his own sixes, the need for water steadily creeping up in his throat. “Just y’all competing for the trophy?”

The level sevens were placed before Bobbi by a sullen looking Piper (“Next year I’m going to out-eat you all”), and she sighed before digging in. Her eyes went wide. “These aren’t spicy at all,” she said incredulously before shoveling the rest of them into hr mouth. “And yeah, basically,” she said apologetically to Phil, signaling for her level eights. On her other side, Skye huffed, throwing her own sevens into her mouth before waving her own arm. “One year, I think Ashley Tai took the win because May and Hope were getting over bronchitis.” 

Phil popped his last six into his mouth and waved for his sevens. Bobbi’d been right - they weren’t spicy at all. He was onto the eights before he could blink, missing the smirk Fitz had on his face when Davis delivered all three of their bamboo steamers. 

“Is that - oh my, looks like the competitive Melinda May has kicked in!” Fitz crowed, and heads turned to see May take the entire steamed dish, tilt it backwards, and slurp up not one, not two, but three  _ xiaolong bao  _ into her mouth before slapping it down. Half of the restaurant burst into loud, boisterous cheers. Perhaps their brackets were saved after all. “ _ Zhè shì  _ _ sì _ _ hào, wǔ gè kěnéng rēng jìn tā zuǐ lǐ de sì gè xiǎolóng bǎo! Tā jìnrùle yīgè xīn de shuǐpíng!” _

Bobbi and Skye shared a look before steeling their expressions and doing the exact same thing to their level eights. Unfortunately, it was also the same time as the level sevens decided to kick in. 

“I think the heat’s a little too much for our competitors,” Fitz smirked, while Bobbi, Skye, Jade and Phil basically threw their glasses of water on themselves. Skye took a step further, stuffing the tablecloth into her mouth in hopes that the dry cloth would leach the spiciness off of her tongue. 

Jade gave her a humored, half-pitied look before sliding over her glass of water and going back to her level eights. The younger May embarrassedly spat out her mouthful of tablecloth and drank the water instead, sipping it slowly. Phil had an inkling she wasn’t going to live that one down for a long, long while. 

Mack tapped out to a loud groan, stumbling towards the other end of the restaurant, where rice and milk galore awaited him. It was down to five. 

Jade hissed immediately upon the level nine touching her tongue, setting it down and tapping out. The sigh was loud enough that it made Skye and Bobbi snort, the former getting spicy soup up her nose and shrieking loud enough to let her dumpling drop to the floor with a  _ plop _ . 

“That’s a drop!” Fitz nearly shrieked. Phil had a funny feeling his bracket hadn’t been in her favor. “Skye May is eliminated, folks! Update your brackets!” Mumbles went around the restaurant, everyone scratching out their odds and handing money over. His level nines were set in front of him, a dangerous red glow emanating from the skins. 

“Uh, May?” he asked, tentatively picking one up with his chopsticks. May looked over from where she was halfway through them. 

“Uh, Phil?”

“Are you sure these are safe to eat?” He watched as Bobbi put one into her mouth and automatically turned red, her gag reflex kicking in. Their waters sloshed everywhere when she slapped the table multiple times. “I’m not really...”

“Are you tapping out, Phil?” The dangerous glint in May’s eye was enough to egg him on, and he put it carefully into his mouth.  _ Hm.  _ It wasn’t bad. He’d had worse when he’d visited Spanish Harlem. But to eat them one after another....? Phil thought back to the large, burly man that’d stared him down that time, rippling muscles making sure he ate those ghost wings. Yeah. He could do this. From the other side of the table, one of the Koenig brothers tapped out, collapsing into a coughing fit. 

May met the last one’s eyes. “You’re going down, Thurston.” 

“Billy.” 

“Dammit! I’m going to get it one day.” May signalled for her level tens at the same time Phil threw down his chopsticks, waving his hand as well. The restaurant had gone so silent one could hear a napkin drop. 

If the level nines had looked dangerous, the level tens looked like the devil incarnate. Even  _ May  _ was looking at them doubtfully. “Fitz?” 

“Yes, May?”

“You mind telling me where you got these peppers?”

“Undisclosed chef’s food truck in Brooklyn Heights,”

“So  _ not  _ something illegal?”

“What kind of person do you take me for?”

“Had to check,” May threw one into her mouth, her eyes beginning to water. “Jeez, Fitz. Strongest pepper you’ve had in years. I don’t think you’ve had them this spicy since you started here.” 

Phil, on the other hand, was pretty sure he knew  _ exactly  _ where said peppers had come from. The last time he’d eaten them, they’d been from exactly where Fitz had said they were. And the last time he’d eaten them, he hadn’t moved from the toilet for a solid day. At least he knew what was in his shampoo now. 

The prize had better be worth it. 

“Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, Phil Coulson is on his way to taking his first  _ xiaolong bao  _ trophy!” Fitz’s Scottish brogue was slipping out in his excitement. “Can he do it before May can? There goes Billy Koenig, it’s just the two of them - AND I DON’T BELIEVE IT! HE’S DONE IT!” 

Every head in the room turned around to find someone who’d bet on Phil winning, confusion ruffling up among them when none of them apparently had. Well. He couldn’t blame them. He was pretty sure none of them had known he was going to compete. 

“Money’s mine!”

A murmur went up when the voice came from the back of the room, the winner straightening up and fist pumping and turning out to be...Skye?

“You bet against me?” May asked, aghast. This was betrayal of the highest kind. Skye wasn’t going to see her bed in the morning. Nor half of her closet, if she could get Bobbi to help her. “After all I did for you -!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, forget about that,” Bobbi said archly. “You bet against  _ me _ ?” What were sisters for, if not to support each other through competition bets? 

“Me, too!” Hope looked just as offended, although more in jest than in anything. “You didn’t think I could win, Skye?” 

”Look, I bet on Phil because he’s a good guy,” Skye said. “And he reviews restaurants for a living. He probably has the most seasoned taste buds out of all of us. If anything, he was probably able to stand half of the spices in the  _ xiaolong bao  _ because he’d eaten spicer things.” She shot him a hopeful look. “Right, Phil?”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. “I mean...I’ve eaten the pepper Fitz used in his level tens before...” His stomach growled. “And I’ll definitely be paying for it the same way I did last time.” Probably worse: the last time he’d eaten it, he’d been in his twenties. The thirties weren’t as forgiving, he was coming to learn. 

“This just in, Skye, your total’s come to over three grand,” Fitz handed the money, freshly collected in an envelope, over to her. The smaller brunette clapped a hand over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as the whole restaurant clapped. 

Even  _ Phil  _ thought he was going to cry when Skye immediately turned around and handed the envelope to Bobbi. “Look, I know it’s like, two years away,” she began. “But  _ fuck,  _ Bobbi, you’re gonna change the world. The best law school in the world is expensive. It’s...I know it’s not much, but I want you to have it. Just remember me when you’re living in the Upper East Side, yeah?” 

Through the hubbub, Jade Wong watched Bobbi hug her younger sister with much more than what seemed to be sisterly affection and smiled wanly. Perhaps Skye May wasn’t as straight as she thought she was. Whether she knew that yet was another question, and she would certainly take it upon herself. After all, friends helped friends get their queer wings. 


	10. Ginger Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Grant Ward appears, Bobbi has some ugly flashbacks, and are Phil and May dating?

"She just gave me the whole envelope, Kar," Bobbi slammed her locker door shut. "There was three fucking grand in there." Her friend raised an eyebrow, shifting the books in her arms. "She said she wanted me to be able to go to a good law school and kick ass."

"She's your sister," Kara added. "Sisters support sisters, y'know. Just because mine's out for my head all the time doesn't mean yours is," She frowned, reconsidering the total. "Three grand? And she didn't keep any of it for herself?" Bobbi shook her head. "I wouldn't  _not_ say thank you, I guess..."

"I just wish I knew what she was up to," Skye had  _never_ given up money so willingly. Hell, she'd never given  _anything_ up willingly, whether it'd been the last piece of  _cheong fun_ during dim sum or a dollar to help her sister pay for the train fare. And three thousand? What was the catch?

But Kara was already looking over her shoulder. "Well, I can tell you what she's up to now," she said quietly, pointing. "Looks like she's getting charmed by the one and only Grant Ward." Bobbi followed her gaze. Skye seemed to be utterly taken by the taller football player, giggling and blushing whenever he said something witty - which apparently was every other line.

Something roiled in Bobbi's belly. Jealousy, perhaps? No, not that. Someone'd noticed Skye for who she was, and not because she was sloppy seconds for her sister. That pride resonated in her chest, rosy and bright. Apprehension? Her sister finally making it out into the dating scene? But that was impossible as well, Skye'd dated plenty of boys before this one...but it was definitely some sort of uneasiness roiling in her stomach.

" _You know my friend Linc, right? Lincoln Slade?"_

There it was. Bobbi's first party as a freshman, charmed by Lincoln Slade's words that he'd be her belle of the ball. The pulsing lights, alcohol mixing with sweat in the air, the crispness of her first beer. Her naive, fourteen-year-old self had believed Slade's idea of a small party meant a gathering of friends, perhaps some video games and pizza.

That fourteen-year-old had grown up quickly that night. In more ways than one. She remembered hands sliding over skin  _she_ wasn't even familiar with, told herself that she should be  _happy_ someone was paying attention to her this way, that she'd be the talk of her friend group the next day. That despite where she'd come from, despite her shitty parents and her time in the streets, someone had wanted her for something other than a check. (So maybe the alcohol had embittered her a little.)

She remembered fuzzily her t-shirt on the floor, her jeans discarded in the corner of the room, a hungry hand sweeping between her legs.

It still made her nauseous every time she thought about it.

"I didn't even know they were friends," Kara said uneasily. Kara had been the reason Bobbi hadn't ended up completing a rape kit that night; completely by accident stumbling into the room with another boy's lips locked to hers. The hungry hand had yanked itself out of her underwear then, leaving Bobbi cold, humiliated, and shaky.

" _Hey, hey, are you okay?" the guy had asked a still-shaking Bobbi. "Slade's a douchey asshat - you don't deserve that, trust me - but are you okay?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, and Bobbi flinched heavily. She hadn't meant to, but any sort of touch was freaking her out at the moment._

" _Let me," Kara had said, although Bobbi hadn't known her name at that moment. "Honey, can you tell me what happened here?" Slowly, Bobbi began to stumble out the details of the incident, the grip on her clothes loosening. "Okay," she said finally when Bobbi got out the words 'touched me' and 'there'. "Let's get you dressed and get you home, okay? Is there anyone we can call?"_

_As drunk as she was, ice cold adrenaline still flooded Bobbi's system at the thought of someone calling May. What kind of disappointed would she be if she turned up back home, still reeking of alcohol when her adoptive mother believed she'd gone out for pizza? No. They couldn't call May. She shook her head vigorously._

_Kara nodded. "Okay, let's just get you home, then," Together, she and the boy hoisted Bobbi onto their shoulders and carried her out to the car, Bobbi's head still spinning from the alcohol._

_Mack had met them at the front door of the restaurant with a look that was both severe disappointment and relief. "Thank you both," he said quietly. "I knew that Lincoln Slade kid was trouble." To Bobbi, he said, "You're getting a cold shower, some water, and some rest. I'll see you in the morning."_

" _You can't tell Mom," Bobbi had bleated. "Please don't tell Mom."_

To this day, Bobbi  _still_ hadn't told May what'd happened. Her mother still believed that she'd gone out for pizza and had come home drowsy from the cheese instead of drowsy with alcohol. She hadn't even told her about the assault, wanting to put things behind her and not wanting May to think she wasn't capable of being tough.

It was the real reason she'd chosen to pursue law - not from the awestruck experience she'd had in Hell's Kitchen when she was younger, as May believed (and loved to tell anyone they met) - but because the thought of putting someone like Lincoln Slade behind bars, for committing such a slimy, disgusting offense? She'd be lying if she said that the thought didn't make her blood sing.

She hadn't told Skye, either. As broken as fourteen-year-old Bobbi had been, thirteen-year-old Skye, who had basically saved her life five years ago in rainy back alleys, was still pure to her. Untouched. Clean in ways that Bobbi hadn't been since that night.

"Bobbi?"

Bobbi yanked her head out of her own reveries to see Kara waving a hand in her face. "Yeah?"

"You literally spaced out for a whole five minutes," Kara said patiently. "In those five minutes, Grant Ward managed to ask your sister out, and she said yes." The roiling was back in Bobbi's gut again. "We're gonna see a lot of his ugly mug around, aren't we?"

"Yeah, well,  _you're_ not going to be the one who's going to have to tell my mom Skye's dating a fuckboy." She'd also (although would die before admitting to it) have to pay Mack ten bucks and a night of babysitting Hope. Her baby sister was apparently still straighter than a pair of chopsticks.

"Bobbi! Kar!" Yup. A glowing, breathless face, eyes wide with newfound possibility. Bobbi remembered this face well. It wasn't hard to remember when it was the last innocent expression one saw on their faces. "Grant Ward asked me out! Finally!"

If Kara was disturbed by their observations becoming reality, she hid it much better than Bobbi did. "Congrats, lil May!" she grinned, mussing Skye's hair. The smaller sophomore struggled to get out of her grip. "You've got yourselfs a man!"

"Knock it off, Bennet," Skye scowled, but she was still flushed with victory. "He said he'd been admiring me from afar," she gushed to Bobbi as the three of them started down the sidewalk. "He said I was the prettiest girl in the whole school, which,  _psh,_ I know so much better than that, but  _still_! He thinks I'm cute!" The smaller May actually bounced on her heels. "He wants to take me to homecoming!"

 _Don't bother to pick out a dress,_ Bobbi wanted to tell her younger sister.  _He'll drop you faster than you drop hot xiaolong baos as soon as the next seemingly unattainable pretty girl comes along. Homecoming will end up with your head spinning and his hands places they shouldn't be._ "Be careful," she found herself saying instead. "You don't know what he really wants."

" _Me,_  Bobbi," Skye answered, hurt and confused that Bobbi was shooting her down so quickly. Was her sister really doubting her ability to get a date? After all the years she'd spent trying to get out of her shadow? "He wants  _me._ Not you,  _me_. Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, it's just -" How was Bobbi supposed to warn her sister off without telling her about her own past? And  _her_? Had she really hurt Skye's chances that badly? "He's bad news, okay, Skye? Trust, me, please. Just this once." She stared beseechingly at Skye, knowing that the stare normally made her sister blush, for some reason. "Please."

But Skye had already made up her mind. "He chose me for once, Bobbi. Deal with it."

* * *

Skye's entrance into the restaurant was all noise, the door slamming shut, chairs scraped to the side. On the way home, her anger had steeled into a scowl that had every patron of the restaurant steering absolutely clear of her as she walked through the dining room.

Whether Phil was just terrible at reading emotions or he was just an idiot, he'd never know.

"Hey, Skye, I was wondering if I could get your interview today, May said you weren't working -?"

" _Fuck off, Phil"_ was all he heard before the door to their upstairs apartment slammed shut in his face. He did dare say he had to fix his hat a little.

"Well, that was rude."

"Does that mean Skye's not babysitting me today?" In all of his haste to get Skye's interview, he hadn't noticed that Hope had sidled up to the same door, staring at it with all of the deapan an eight-year-old could. "Well, who's gonna make sure I don't break into the kitchen?" Inquisitive brown eyes turned on Phil. "Fitz usually ends up setting something on fire when I'm in there."

"I - well - "  _He_ certainly couldn't. He had an article to write, even though the subject had just gone up in flames - he could just make something up. Journalists did that on their most time-crunched days, didn't they? In a panic, Phil looked around the restaurant. Mack was busy serving tables, Fitz was in the back kitchen, Skye was...well, he knew where she was, and Bobbi was sulkily sitting at a table, playing with a single chopstick.

As much as Phil had a deadline, he was probably a better choice than a moody teenager with a potential weapon. His beliefs were only solidified when Bobbi twirled the chopstick a little too fast for his liking. "You're with me today, Hope," he said, hoping Mack wouldn't kill him for taking the liberty. "I don't think we've met officially." Phil held out his hand. "Phil Coulson."

"You won the xiaolong bao eating competition." Hope slapped his hand in a high-five. "Solid. I don't think anyone's beat Miss May since I was alive."

"And that's how it's going to be for the rest of my life. Starting next year." May swung into Phil's line of sight, easily picking up the eight-year-old with a grin. "So. Hope. Is Skye not hanging out with you today? What'd she do to you?"

"Skye's mad," Hope said wisely, somehow knowing how to put gravity into the smallest amount of words possible. "She stomped in and slammed the door in Phil's face." Phil watched as May's own expression went stormy dark, although whether it was because her daughter had been so disrespectful or because she'd specifically disrespected  _him,_ he wasn't sure. "And Bobbi's sad at the table, so Phil said he'd be my babysitter till Dad was off!"

"It's really not a lot of trouble," Phil explained hastily when May gave him a surprised look. "I just have to get two interviews tomorrow from you guys. And Roz double-teamed me to try a new ice cream parlor in Midtown, I thought I'd take Hope with me."

 _How did Hope manage to pull such a wide grin from May?_ "Well, you're in luck," she said to Hope. "You're getting not one cool babysitter, but two this afternoon!"

"Two?" Hope looked as confused as Phil felt. "Who's the other one?"

"Me!" The smaller girl did a fist pump at May's declaration. "Let me go get my bag and we'll go, okay, honey?" Hope nodded happily as May headed back towards the office. Phil could only stare. He was going for ice cream. With  _Melinda_. Granted, it was for work, and granted, it was with a small child in tow, but they were  _going_.  _Together._ To get something other than Chinese food. Was this a date? Were they dating? Oh no. He wasn't ready for this.

"Mr. Phil? You look kinda pale." Hope was tugging at his sleeve, and Phil blushed. "You okay? Should I get Miss May?" He shook his head silently as May arrived back on the scene, that same smile on her face and bag in hand.

"Phil? You good? Last night's  _bao_ making a comeback?"

"Are you sure yours aren't? I did win, after all," he sassed back immediately, and Hope gasped.

"Shots fired, Miss May!"

* * *

 May had been somewhat skeptical of the new ice cream place Phil'd suggested. Twenty three flavors? What kind of place even  _did_ that? Furthermore, what kind of place actually did that  _well?_ "Apple cider? What do you mean, apple cider is an ice cream flavor?"

Hope and Phil looked at her like she was crazy. "You've never had apple cider ice cream before?" Now would be a very bad time to bring up her lactose sensitivity, May decided. "That's it, you're getting apple cider ice cream." Phil frowned when she brought out her wallet. "This one's on me. Company credit card, remember?"

This was starting to feel very much like a date. If they hadn't had Hope in tow...

"Mr. Phil?" Hope looked up politely but expectantly. Phil gave her an indulging smile and bent down to her level.  _That was good,_ May noted unconsciously in the back of her head.  _Treats kids like they're equals, not inferior._ (Where the hell had that thought come from?)

"What's up, Hope? Decided what flavor you want yet? I think you can get more than one."

"I know you said your company's paying for everything, but can I get a sugar cone? And can we bring some back for Daddy and Skye and Bobbi?" Sure enough, when Phil looked over at the cones, a sugar cone was indeed more expensive. "Skye and Bobbi looked sad today, and ice cream cheers up everything!"

 _Ice cream might not speed up a gay awakening,_ May thought ruefully. If her daughters had fought about that again, one of them was most definitely crawling into her bed tonight. And while she appreciated their willingness to be close, she'd somehow managed to adopt  _two_ daughters that were cover hoggers. It was getting cold, okay? But she couldn't very well tell that to Hope. "Sure, honey," she said instead, and Hope's face was painstakingly similar to Skye's whenever she saw the creamy treat. "What do you think they'd like?"

Hope studied the board for an alarmingly long amount of time. "PB&J," she said finally. "'Cause they're sisters, and sisters are supposed to go together like PB&J, right?" Both Phil and May looked surprised at the comparison. "They're good together!'

"Half a pint of PB&J...actually, let's make it a pint," Phil said decisively.

May frowned. "Shouldn't we try it first before we lug a couple of pints home?" If they ended up eating subpar ice cream, she'd rather give it to one of the homeless people she'd passed on the way there. "I'm not spending hard-earned money on terrible ice cream."

"You're not wrong," Phil mused, and the matter was closed until they each cradled a cup of ice cream in front of them, squished into a booth. Sunlight shone through the window onto their table, slanting some of them in a golden glow. Hope watched it catch both Phil and May, their staredown highlighted in a dusky spotlight.

More specifically, it highlighted their staring contest. "You eat first," May challenged. "As the reviewer, you should have the first official bite." Guiltily, Hope put her spoon down. Mack had always told her to wait to be told to eat first.

"You're my guest," Phil shot back. "You should have the first bite."

"Well, really, I'm indebted to you for all of the press you're giving to the restaurant, and first is the best -"

"First is the worst, actually, and if you really wanted to make me feel good you'd go first so I can go second and have the best ice cream ever -"

"That's terrible, Phil, it really is, expecting me to make you feel good -"

"Hey, you said it, not me,"

"There is a  _child_!" May finally said, blushing deeply. The look on Phil's face could only be described as pure victory. "Fine. I'll eat first. Oh, Hope, honey. You can eat."  _Thank gosh._ Hope picked up her spoon and shoved it into her mouth, frowning when the taste was acrid and bitter.

"Miss May?" She swished the spoon around her mouth, trying to figure out what was going on with it. "My ice cream tastes weird." May sunk her spoon into Hope's cookies and cream, popping it into her mouth.

Well. At least this took away any pretense of this being a date. No good date would've had such terrible ice cream. "That is  _definitely_ not what cookies and cream tastes like," she affirmed. "You can throw it away, if you'd like." Phil frowned and did the same, his nose squishing adorably. May had to fight the urge to chuckle. "Yup. You're not the only one that thinks so."

"Oh god," Phil said, his nose still scrunched in disgust. "What kind of Oreo -" He took a scoop of his watermelon sherbert.  _Nope. Regret. Regret. Abort. Abort. Where's my water._ "That's way too sweet. Nope. Bye." He jotted some notes down at lightning speed before fishing a bottled water out of his bag and chugging it down.

May took a bite of her own ice cream - ginger, which she'd been surprised to find somewhere outside of Chinatown - and waited for the subtle kick to make itself known. Sourness immediately shrivelled up what was left of her tastebuds instead, and she flinched. "Forget  _xiaolong bao_ ," she muttered. "Next year's eating competition is from here." Just to make sure she hadn't missed something, she tried another bite. Nope. Just as sour as before.  _Oh, god. How did they manage to mess up ginger ice cream? I'm scarred for life. The rest of it._

Phil stood and threw his ice cream out. Hope immediately scrambled to her feet and followed. Her sugar cone was still clutched in her hand, and both adults looked at it enviously. "Was it good?" Phil asked. "It's from a box. It has to be good, right?"

Hope crunched the cone, making a face and swallowing. "It tastes like sugar. Just sugar."

"One out of ten, would not recommend," Phil concluded. "Got it."

"One out of ten?" May asked.

"One of out ten. Because at least I got to see all of your faces eating terrible ice cream." They exited the shop and into the street, making a mild beeline for the local grocery on the corner. "Let's get some decent ice cream for the rest of your family, yeah? I have a feeling Skye wouldn't appreciate subpar ice cream." Hope nodded vigorously.

"You think they're gonna have PB&J ice cream, Mr. Phil? 'Cause I think Bobbi 'n Skye still need it..."


	11. Jellyfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where exactly did Fitz come from? How did he get to May's? We're about to find out.

“Bobbi, you’re off for the afternoon,” May said as soon as Bobbi walked through the doors after school. “Phil needs his interviews, and since the both of you were...” She paused to phrase it delicately. “ _ Unavailable  _ yesterday, I’m sending you and Fitz.” On cue, Fitz strolled out of the kitchen, wearing a black button up, a cardigan, and a lavender tie. 

Bobbi jokingly averted her eyes. “Fitz, your tie burns. Go change it, please, for the love of everything spicy.” She got a punch in the arm for her troubles. “No, I’m serious, though. Go change your tie. It doesn’t match your shirt.” The Scottish chef sighed and slumped back through the kitchen, muttering something about ‘finding a girlfriend that appreciated lavender ties’. Bobbi snorted. He’d have a hard time on that front. 

“Afternoon, Bobbi. Hey, Mel!” Both mother and daughter startled at the nickname, Melinda at the  _ ease  _ in which it’d rolled off of Phil’s tongue and in which she’d accepted it, Bobbi at the sense of impending doom that came on whenever someone called her mother by a nickname. 

When was May going to taser him into the carpet? Any time now, surely -?

“Hey, Phil. No box today, I’ll bring you Fitz’s favorite.” 

_ Holy shit, she didn’t taser him into the carpet.  _ Bobbi’s first thought was to bolt and tell Skye, but then she remembered that the May in question was still at school, fawning over Grant Ward at football practice. Nor was she talking to her at the moment.  _ Of course. Everything that could’ve gotten between us, and it came down to the fucking Y chromosome.  _

“Sounds good. Bobbi, you ready?” The eldest May daughter nodded silently - half in shock, half in resignation - and followed Phil over to what was lovingly dubbed the ‘Phil table’. Piper, Davis and Mack had christened it as such, going so far as to vehemently bar patrons from sitting at the table by the window whenever Phil was in. (If Mack was asked, he would deny actually picking up a member of the mafia and sitting them down somewhere else. So would Piper and Davis. Just less convincingly.) 

Piper set down two table settings with a grin and left, the awkward silence between the two of them expanding until it was forcing Bobbi’s eyes to look anywhere but at Phil. Truth was, she was still sort of in shock. “I can’t believe you didn’t get tasered into the carpet.”

“Tasered into the carpet?” Melinda May, taser someone into the carpet? Why hadn’t he heard of this before, pray tell? “What do you mean, tasered into the carpet?” Phil wondered if Mel was really capable of that. She did host the mafia in the dining room, it was true...

“You didn’t know?” At Phil’s still-confused look, Bobbi leaned in conspiratorially. “The last time someone asked May out on a date, she ended up tasering him into the carpet.” Oh. That made sense. Was it wrong for him to feel vehemently victorious against this man he didn’t even know? 

“Why...why’d she taser him into the carpet?”

Bobbi shrugged fluidly. “She won’t tell us why. Skye bugged her for a week before May made her clean the bathrooms for asking.” A talented pair of chopsticks scooped up a piece of jellyfish. “So. What do you want to know?” Phil got out his pen, ready to ask Bobbi for her life story, before she chewed and grinned. “Wait. Try the food.”

The jellyfish was something that couldn’t be described as anything else as a  _ slimy  _ crunch, cold slipperiness migrating to his cheek and doing the wriggle. Phil fought the urge to fish it out of his mouth. “Bobbi. What.”  _ The hell,  _ he wanted to finish. “ _ What? _ ”

“Sorry I’m late,  _ someone  _ insisted that my tie was off-color,” Fitz, harried, pulled the chair beside Bobbi back and sat in. “Ah,” he said matter-of-factly when he caught Phil’s expression. “You’ve had the jellyfish. My favorite.” Bobbi’d pulled the same trick on him the first time he’d tried it - but really, the joke had been on her.. Hopefully she hadn’t told him they were worms yet. 

The look the taller blonde gave him suggested that  _ yes,  _ she  _ had  _ just been about to get to the punchline of the joke. Coulson would thank him later. Served her right for telling him his tie didn’t match. It was a  _ lavender  _ tie. What didn’t go with lavender? One day, Leopold Fitz would find a woman that appreciated lavender ties. Even though today wasn’t that day. 

“So,” Phil said, after he’d felt Bobbi and Fitz had glared at each other for an appropriate amount of time. “Which one of you wants to go first?” Chef and server exchanged glances, seemingly having an entirely mental battle before Fitz threw his hands up. 

“There’s not much to say,” he said finally when Phil got his pen and notepad ready. “My mum raised me for as long as I can remember. We’ve been coming to May’s since I was little, and when I got old enough to work, May offered me a job.” 

“That’s not true,” Bobbi butted in, batting Fitz’s chopsticks away from the last piece of jellyfish. “The first time he showed up, he ended up insulting Chan Ho because he thought his dishes weren’t spicy enough.” As if to prove his point, the Scottish chef reached for the bottle of Sriracha on the table, upending it over the jellyfish on his plate.

* * *

 

_ “Why, hello there,” May said kindly to the small boy who’d run into the restaurant. “Are you lost?” It’d been a slow night for customers, all of the servers lounging around in the dining room and the chef taking a smoke break for an undetermined amount of time. At least this kid looked like he’d provide some entertainment, lost or not.  _

_ “‘M not lost,” the kid answered with a surprisingly strong Scottish accent. “I’d like t’ speak t’ your chef, please,” _

_ “Leopold Alistair Fitz!” A portly, redheaded woman hurried in, glasses and handbag askew. “How many times must I tell you that you can’t leave the house like that!”  _ She  _ was more recognizable, at the very least. Alice Fitz wasn’t someone that was easily forgotten. “You don’t know what could’ve happened to you!” _

_ May stepped forward, a bemused smile on her face. “Mrs. Fitz,” she said. “I didn’t know you had a son,” It made sense as to why she kept asking for extra napkins and hot sauce every time she ordered out. Chan had made it very clear if he’d had to put a handful of hot sauce packets into a takeout package one more time, he’d walk.  _

_ “‘Course she does.” The kid puffed his chest out, a proud look in his eyes. “M’names Leo Fitz, I’m eight years old, and I’d like t’ speak to your chef, please,” May looked between the exasperatedly exhausted mother and expectant son, already half knowing how this was going to turn out. “Your Ma Po tofu isn’t spicy enough,”  _

_ It was if Chan’s hearing had been attuned to hear the words ‘not spicy enough’, because the next thing they knew, said chef was in the dining room, wielding a giant pot of hot sauce. “My Ma Po tofu always spicy enough!” he half shrieked. “You no think it spicy, have all spicy you want!” Mrs. Fitz let out a loud yell when the bright red goop was suddenly splattered all over her progeny, the affronted chef already stalking back towards the kitchen.  _

_ Bobbi and Skye, who’d heard the commotion from upstairs (it was hard not to hear a screaming Szechuan man through the bathroom vents), had rushed downstairs upon hearing the scream and had skidded into the dining room behind Fitz just in time to get covered in the same.  _

_ Silence.  _

_ Then Skye started screaming.  _

_ “MY EYES!” Servers scrambled to get wet wipes and towels to clean off the May daughters - they’d seen firsthand what it was like to neglect them in crises - but no one noticed young Leopold Fitz take a fingerful of sauce from the top of his head and pop it in his mouth.  _

_ “That’s why,” he remarked casually a few seconds later, as if he just hadn’t been doused with liquid fire. “There’s not enough red pepper flakes.” He made his way towards the kitchen, not even flinching when Chan brandished a knife with garlic at him. “You need more red pepper flakes,”  _

_ “Chan Ho Yin make fire, no one tell Chan Ho Yin how to make fire - !” The chef was just about ready to dismember the small Scottish lad when he dumped an entire container of red pepper flakes into the pot of hot sauce, calmly taking a spoonful and tasting it.  _

_ “Bloody hell, there ‘t is,” Fitz gasped out, his eyes watering. Chan was so thrown by the image of a kid crying that he didn’t even move an inch for his knife. “Here, try some.” Mollified but still annoyed, Chan took another spoon and tasted the sauce, his eyes going wide. “Told you, Red pepper flakes. Gives it a whole ‘nother level.”  _

_ “Kid make fire” was all Chan admitted grudgingly before stomping off, presumably to correct the recipe he had written down on a scroll somewhere. Fitz stared after him for a few silent seconds, his nonchalant silence broken by the heavy  _ thwap  _ of the swing door.  _

_ “Leopold!” Mrs. Fitz was on him in an instant, trying to sweep off all of the remaining goop on his clothes and hair. “ _ Why  _ did you go into that kitchen, he could have  _ killed  _ you -” Her tirade was broken by loud, harsh Mandarin coming from the back room, a male and female voice dueling it out like there was no tomorrow.  _

_ Skye stepped up to fill the shocked emptiness left by the silence. “Hi, I’m Skye, I’m adopted, and I’m nine,” she said brightly to Fitz. She held her hand out, the smaller boy recovering quickly enough to take it and shake it. “Do I call you Fitz or Leo?”  _

_ “Hi Skye, you c’n call me Fitz. Only my mum calls me Leo,” The nine-year-old nodded. “Who’s that behind you?”  _

_ “Oh, that’s Bobbi,” Skye said. “She’s ten, she’s adopted too, and she likes to pretend she doesn’t show feelings. But I know she does.” Her voice lowered to a stage whisper. “Last week, I caught her crying at the end of some  _ Hello Kitty  _ thing.”  _

_ “Skye!” Bobbi was about to give her sister the worst lecture of her life when May stalked back in, her face red. “Hi, M...m...May,” she said meekly when the glare was turned to her. She hadn’t quite yet caught onto the whole parenting naming thing. “Did you take care of Chan?” _

_ May sighed. “I fired him, but in three months I’m going to end up offering him a job again because too many people miss his cooking. Just watch.” She turned to the Fitzes. “I’m dreadfully sorry about that, Alice, are you and Leo alright?” Both mother and son nodded in affirmation. “Let me set you up with some recompensation for that, it’s the least I can do...” _

* * *

 

“...and every time I came into the restaurant, May would just yell back to the kitchen and Chan would come out with a tray full of spices and a resigned look on his face,” Fitz finished with a straight face. “Then, when I got to be workin’ age, May had another giant argument with Chan in the back room,” 

Coulson had already snapped a pen from having written so fast.

* * *

 

_ “Hey, Fitz,” Skye chirped when Fitz swung through the restaurant. “What’s cracking?” Her eyes skidded over his uniform - unlike she and Bobbi, Fitz attended a prestigious all-boys school, which of course required the dreaded polo and khakis. Blame a man for wanting to wear a cardigan, much? _

_ Fitz gave her the same dry once-over. They’d gotten over the awkward part of their friendship a long time ago, both of them taking a look at each other and declaring in unison ‘No’. “What’s crackin’? Seriously? No wonder you’re still single.” He plopped his bag onto a chair, the both of them sitting down. “And to answer your question, nothin’. Hey, Davis, can I get some chicken wings?”  _

_ “And a bowl of scallion pancakes, school food is shit!” Skye called. “Yeah, Davis, I know. You keep telling me. Still not going to convince me to swear off of ‘em. And my language is just fine!”  _

_ “Hey, Chan! Xiāngliào nánhái zài zhèlǐ!” Instead of the usual chef walking out with a large tray in his arms, there was the sound of pots and pans hitting the floor. “Uh...Chan?”  _

_ “Tā hé nǐ yīyàng hǎo de chúshī, nǐ zhīdào ma!”  _

_ “Tā yīdiǎn yě bù liǎojiě zhōngguó cài de wèidào!”  _

_ “Rúguǒ nǐ gùyòng tā, wǒ tuìchūle!” _

_ “Ránhòu líkāi wǒ de chúfáng!” There was a final bang, clang, and May emerged with the tray of sauces. “Hi, Fitz,” she said tiredly. “Here’s your sauces. Your chicken wings are going to be a while, I have to cook them myself.”  _

_ “Cook them yourself?” Fitz furrowed his brow. “Is everything alright, Miss May?” He wouldn’t have asked if he’d known it would cause Chan additional stress. And surely May didn’t have time to take out of her schedule to cook him a plate of wings.  _

_ “Chan quit,” Skye supplied. May shot her a look. “Sorry. You guys shout really loudly. Chan said that if Mom hired him, then he would quit. Obviously you were more important than he was, so he quit.” Fitz’s jaw dropped open. He’d been joking for  _ years  _ about finally working at May’s Golden Dragon (it wasn’t like he wasn’t already there all the time hanging out with Bobbi and Skye), but apparently someone’d been actually listening.  _

_ It was then that Bobbi burst through the doors, a bouquet of flowers and a bag in her hands. “Congrats, Fitz!” she exclaimed, handing the flowers to a very confused Scot. “We’ve been waiting  _ forever  _ to do this!”  _

_ Both May and Skye were giving her evil looks, while Fitz just tried to pick his jaw up off of the ground. “Uh...do what?” Davis took the opportunity to place two bottles of soda (Sprite for Skye, Fanta for Fitz) on the table.  “What, exactly have you been waiting forever to do?” _

_ Bobbi seemed to deflate then. “Uh...” She turned to her sister and mother, both of whom were facepalming. “You mean to tell me you guys didn’t tell him?” _

_ “We were  _ about to _ ,” Skye griped. “Then you came in and stunned the poor boy with your flowers and gifts. Probably thinks you’re about to ask him out or something.”  _

_ “Ew, no!” Fitz managed to recover enough to look sufficiently affronted. He was plenty handsome! “Sorry, Fitz. You’re a good-looking guy, really. But I just can’t see myself dating you, y’know?” Sheepishly, Bobbi re-handed him the flowers. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?” _

_ May sighed. “I wanted to tell you this differently,” she chuckled, “but if you’ll have us, I’d like to take you on as a part-time chef. In on the tips, fifteen an hour, and as many hours per week as you want or need.” Fitz’s jaw dropped again. May really  _ was  _ handing him a job. Just when he’d been looking for one, too! _

_ “Sure!” he exclaimed in what was probably a too-enthusiastic voice. “When do I get to start?” Bobbi, Skye and May cheered, the latter grabbing the bag from Bobbi’s arms and handing it to him.  _

_ “Think of it as your initiation present,” she said with a small smile. Fitz opened the bag, gasping when he saw the small, brown pepper. _

_ “Is this a Chocolate Bhut Jolokia?!” _

_ Skye laughed, clapping him on the back. “Welcome to the family, Fitzopold,” _

* * *

 

“It was great,” Bobbi quipped, swiping the sriracha sauce from Fitz before he could chug it by the bottle. “That is, until Fitz tried to cook us orange chicken with the ghost pepper that night,” She shuddered. “I don’t think I’d ever spent longer on the toilet.” 

Fitz just rolled his eyes and swiped the bottle back. “I’ve made plenty worse, and you know it,” Coulson chuckled and flipped a page on his notepad. “Plus, tha’s nothin’ when it comes to what I used during the  _ xiaolong bao  _ competition.” 

Coulson just shuddered. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to think about that - the Costco lady had looked at him weirdly when he’d checked out with three jumbo packs of toilet paper and some butt cream. 

In the meanwhile, Fitz and Bobbi were trading looks once again like the shady duo they were.

“Do you want me to -?”

“No, it’s fine, it doesn’t -”

“I just think that it’s better -” 

“ _ Fitz _ , it was eight years ago, I’m  _ fine _ -” 

“I still think it’d be better -” 

“Ugh,  _ fine _ . Get Mom to bring me some lobster, though? And have them just boil it!” Bobbi had to raise her voice as Fitz headed towards the kitchen. “None of that Chinese saucy shit!” She paused for a minute, evaluating Coulson. “Actually, make it two, one with that saucy shit and one without! I hope you like seafood,” she said without preamble. “I usually like to eat lobster when I’m telling this story. Helps get out the stress, y’know?”

Coulson could only nod. Was Bobbi’s story that bad?

Piper arrived not soon after, bearing lobster crackers, bowls, butter and bibs. “I’d be weary,” she whispered dramatically. “Bobbi  _ really  _ likes cracking them when they’re watery.” He gulped and reached for his bib. 

“So,” Bobbi deadpanned chipperly. “I was born on a sunny day in New England in a hospital near the ocean. Word has it that the atmosphere in the room was like a unicorn had fucking shit in the hallway.” 

Coulson gave her a long look. “Really?” 

The chipper deadpan dropped, and Bobbi sighed, looking out the window wistfully. “Yeah. I was born in Boston, actually. Can you believe I actually used to be happy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xiāngliào nánhái zài zhèlǐ - spice boy is here
> 
> Tā hé nǐ yīyàng hǎo de chúshī, nǐ zhīdào ma! - he's just as good a chef as you are, and you know it!
> 
> Tā yīdiǎn yě bù liǎojiě zhōngguó cài de wèidào - he knows nothing about the flavors of Chinese food!
> 
> Rúguǒ nǐ gùyòng tā, wǒ tuìchūle - if you hire him, I quit!
> 
> Ránhòu líkāi wǒ de chúfáng - then get out of my kitchen!


	12. Lobster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobbi Morse (now May) gets a story all her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD IT'S BEEN SO LONG. idk if anyone's still here but henlo! i'm so sorry it took so long tho!
> 
> TW: general alcoholism, child abuse/injuring, lots of Robert Morse making his daughter feel like shit. And abandonment.

_ Bobbi Morse once believed she could control the sun. _

_ Every morning, she would wake up to see the sun dancing across her bedroom wall, little dashes of light that would flicker across the rosy pink paint. For a moment, she’d be rose gold, bright blue eyes and golden curls bouncing happily as she watched the mini light show she presumed was just for her.  _

_ After all, she was a princess. Daddy had told her so. Why wouldn’t she have control over the light? Princesses always got to control everything. At least, that’s what her books had told her.  _

_ “Princess! Come get breakfast before you’re late for preschool!”  _

_ Preschool! The four-year-old’s eyes had popped open wide, and Bobbi half hopped, half stumbled out of her bed, dainty feet scrambling down the hallway. It was her first day of preschool! Her toothbrush zoomed across her teeth, bright pink watermelon spat into the sink and quickly followed by a splat of cold water.  _

_ “Doesn’t someone look excited,” Robert Morse remarked when little Bobbi bounded into the kitchen, toothpaste still crusted around her mouth. She squealed with laughter when he sloppily picked her up and carried her back to the bathroom, making sure to wipe away the leftover toothpaste with a soft motion. “Maybe I should call you the toothpaste princess instead, huh?” _

_ “Daddy!” She still squirmed at the touch of the cold washcloth against her upper lip. “Daddy silly!” Bobbi didn’t want to be the toothpaste princess! She was going to be the princess of...of...well, of what, she wasn’t exactly sure yet, but she most definitely didn’t want to be the toothpaste princess!  _

_ Her father had a fond smile on his face when he carried her back to the kitchen, setting her gently onto the counter. “I’m silly? You think I’m silly, honey?” When Bobbi nodded, so did he. “I see. But didn’t you know that silly people can’t make pancakes for princesses?” She gasped. Pancakes?! Her Daddy never made pancakes! “I guess if I’m silly, I can’t make you pancakes, princess...” _

_ Noooooo! Bobbi wanted pancakes! “Nooooooo!” tiny Bobbi yelled, bursting into giggles. “Love you, Daddy!” Robert Morse had already grinned at his daughter’s attempt to save her breakfast, and was pouring the creamy batter into the pan as Bobbi watched.  _

_ “What shapes do you want today, princess?” When Bobbi put a finger to her chin, pretending to think, he casually flipped the pan and began shaping the lump of batter, already knowing what she would say. A star, of course. It was always a star. He couldn’t remember a time when Bobbi hadn’t asked for a star - not even when she’d nearly coughed her lungs out last year with that cold.  _

_ “C’n I have a heart today, Daddy?” The star-shaped pancake flopped to the ground in Robert’s surprise, the slightly scruffy man standing in shock with a sizzling pan in his hand. Bobbi scooted out of her chair, gingerly scooping up the pancake with a reverence only a child could have. Just because she didn’t want it didn’t mean it deserved to be treated badly, after all. Star pancakes deserved all of the love they could get.  _

_ “Daddy? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghostie.” And that would most certainly be a problem. Ghosties had never come into her castle during the day! They were only supposed to come at night. Bobbi would have to have a word with the next ghostie that decided to hide under her bed. She was the princess - everyone had to follow her rules, even the ghosties!  _

_ “Not a star today, princess?” her father finally croaked out, reaching for more pancake batter. Satisfied that a ghostie hadn’t taken over her Daddy, Bobbi climbed back into the chair and resumed watching the pancakes get made. “You surprised me there, honey. You always have star-shaped things.”  _

_ “Bu’ today’s  _ special _ ,” Bobbi said, assuming all of the old, wise airs she could muster. She held the persona for a moment, face grave and posture ramrod straight, before a small giggle escaped her lips. “‘M goin’ t’ preschool today, Daddy!” She paused for a moment, her eyes shining brightly. “Ya...ya didn’t  _ forget,  _ did ya?” Bobbi shrieked a little as the pancake almost fled the pan once more. “Daddy, that’s scary!”  _

_ Robert caught the pancake with ease, a charming smile stretching across his face as he slid it onto the plate. Bobbi ooh’d and ahh’d appropriately, clapping when a small dust of powdered sugar dusted the surface of the star-shaped pancake. “One star pancake for the most royal star princess in the entire galaxy starting preschool today,” Bobbi’s beam could’ve lit up the room. “Syrup, princess?” _

_ “And sprinkles!” _

* * *

_ Looking back, Bobbi would always remember those first few months of preschool as some kind of otherworldly heaven, when all she had to do was exist in a floaty golden haze of preschool, pancakes, and the ability to control the sun. All of her fears about making friends had vanished almost instantly when she’d stepped into the room, one girl running up to her and patting her hair reverently.  _

_ Another boy had even thrown a foam block at her, but it’d turned out he’d been as fascinated with her hair as the other girl was, but had been afraid to tell her. Bobbi had been pretty sure he’d been her first boyfriend. In, of course, the way that only preschoolers could be in a relationship - Bobbi shared her favorite books with him, reading them to the best of her ability; in return, he’d sometimes let her play with his prized toy Mustang wind-up car.  _

_ She wondered often what happened to them. Did they remember her? Kept her in their memories when they thought of ice-blue eyes and shiny hair? When they read those same books and played with the Mustang? Maybe they’d seen her at some point during when her face’d done time on the side of the milk carton.  _

_ She hadn’t been Bobbi Morse then. She’d been the girl who’d run away from her parents because of her extravagant attitude. She’d been a clueless, uneducated girl who was ‘bound to come back home eventually, she’d never last this long in the streets. Surprised they haven’t found her body yet’. She was weak, her father said. His little girl who he just wanted back.  _

_ Bobbi hadn’t seen a trace of that little girl, pink tutu and all, since the fifteenth crack of her father’s palm against her cheek. (Even after all this time, she wasn’t sure it was fifteen. It could’ve been twenty-five for all she knew.)  _

_ The first crack had been accidental - that’s what they’d all thought. Soon after the first few months of preschool, Robert’s firm had laid him off, citing necessary closures. It hadn’t been the end of the world for the Morse family, Robert easily finding new work elsewhere. Ann, the ever-versatile mother, was able to move just as easily.  _

_ Soon enough, Bobbi had found herself in a new room in a new city, where all she could see were rain droplets on the window and the sunlight’s reflection off of the skyscrapers harshly glaring into her eyes when she woke up. She missed her the rose pink of her last room, and she said as much to her father the first morning of her new preschool.  _

_ Unfortunately, there were no pancakes, star  _ or  _ heart-shaped, to be found this time.  _

_ “I’m sorry, princess, but we can’t paint your room again,” Robert was bustling around the miniscule kitchen as Bobbi sat at a poor imitation of their previous kitchen island, kicking her feet. “We don’t actually own this house, and we can’t do everything we want to it.”  _

_ Bobbi didn’t understand. She just wanted the sun to stop being so mean to her. Whichever princess was controlling the sun here was a big meanie. Having her castle meant that she could get her powers back! “Please, Daddy?” _

_ “When things get better, sweetheart.” There was a brief kiss on her head. “I promise I’ll get you back your castle and everything you’ve ever asked for, okay?”  _

_ “Okay, Daddy.”  _

_ ‘Things getting better’ went from two weeks to four, then to a month and six. As it’d turned out, Robert’s so-called ‘new job’ had been temporary in all senses of the word, and any money they’d saved quickly ran out. Bobbi’s father went from spending the morning preparing his favorite daughter pancakes to spending the morning combing the streets for jobs. Ann did her best to support the family on what she could give, but it was barely enough to feed the three of them. Bobbi lost her ballet class, the majority of her wardrobe, her favorite books. Ann had even tried to throw out Fluffy, her favorite stuffed duck, but there was simply no dealing with a five-year-old who’d been attached to that duck for her entire life.  _

_ And when the same kind of loss hit her father after one too many failed mornings, they usually meant a drink at night. Or two, or three. Bobbi was never sure how many drinks one could have in a bottle. It ended up being the least of her worries, anyways, after she learned that Robert liked to take his anger out on things when he was one too many drinks in. “Things” usually included his wife, daughter and nearest household object. _

_ She was so stupid. Believing she could make her father better was one of Bobbi's larger mistakes, but still one she made time after time. Her sweet, naive, five year old self. Daddy had always said everything could be cured with the touch of her lollipop wand and a kiss. Why wouldn't he be the same? _

_ “Don't touch me, kid” was snarled at her instead, a wide-eyed Bobbi shoved back onto her behind. Bewildered and momentarily confused, Bobbi clutched her little lollipop tight. “Don't need fucking brats like you.” A swig. The thud of a bottle onto the nightstand.  _

_ “But Daddy...” Maybe one tap wasn't enough? Maybe he needed another one to feel better. Bobbi scrambled to her feet and tried to touch her father's nose with the lollipop wand once more. “A touch of love, a touch of fun, a touch from the lollipop --” _

_ “I said,  _ **_don't touch me_ ** _!” The slap threw Bobbi back before she could comprehend what was happening. Robert clambered unsteadily to his feet, sending the young girl scuttling back. “What about that don't you understand, you bitch?” The lollipop was yanked out of her hand. “The real world isn't all rainbows and unicorns, you stupid idiot. You can't  _ **_fix_ ** _ me.” _

_ He'd been right about that one thing.  _

_ “Bobbi?!” Ann tore into the room to find a shadow of her husband cowering over a broken version of her daughter, and immediately scooped up the latter. “Robert, stop this. You're scaring her!” _

_ “I'm scaring  _ **_her_ ** _?” Robert laughed, and Bobbi squeaked in horror. That wasn't her daddy. She was too young to tell how, but that much she knew. Her daddy wouldn't laugh like he was a villain in her Saturday morning cartoons. He wouldn't dispute the power of the lollipop.  _

_ Her cheek twitched, and she put a hand to the answering flair of pain. Her daddy would never hit her. Never, ever, ever. In conclusion: this man wasn't her daddy. Bobbi's real father had been kidnapped and replaced with this evil man. Princess Bobbi had to get back to her castle, pronto, and bring the sun out so she could have her old daddy back!  _

_ “Bobbi, honey,” Ann, in the midst of everything, had taken Bobbi to her room and settled her small daughter into bed, holding two frightened, clammy hands. “Daddy's sort of sick right now, and we have to be nice to him, okay?” _

_ “But I wases,” Bobbi whimpered, sniffling just a little. She was a big girl. She could  _ **_be_ ** _ a big girl, and big girls didn't cry. “I tried to help daddy with the lollipop wand.” The aforementioned wand was lifted, and she palmed its slick surface. “He didn't let me. He. He.” Bobbi sniffles again valiantly. “He  _ **_hit_ ** _ me, momma.” What had she even done to be hit? “I didn’ do anythin’! I promise I was nice!” The small girl burst into tears. “I wan’ daddy back!” _

_ “I know, honey. I know.” She had to get her little girl out, Ann knew, but at the expense of their entire lives? Robert was going through a rough patch. They all knew that. Rough patches didn't last forever. He'd find work, they'd have a steady income, and he'd go back to making Bobbi pancakes in the morning before taking her to school. All would be forgiven. It had to be. “Sometimes...sometimes we have to give people time to get better. Like when your cousin Caitlin was sick, remember?” Bobbi nodded. “You and me, we have to give daddy time to get better before we can get him back. But we have to give him time.” _

_ “And then we'll get daddy back?” _

_ “And then we'll get him back. Him and all of his star pancakes. I know you love those, honey. Try and get some sleep, okay?” Bobbi nodded, already excited about the distant prospect of pancakes. “Daddy and I both love you very, very much.”  _

_ “I love you too, momma.” (If asked to repeat those words today, Bobbi would've laughed. Love her mother? The same one who’d drawn into herself at the first sign of conflict when, hours before, she’d promised to protect her one and only daughter with everything she had? Fucking bullshit.)  _

_ (She knew what real love was, now, too. It came in the form of teaching her how to stand tall when all she’d knew was to cower. In how to repair herself when someone else had torn her apart.) _

* * *

 

_ “Barbara! Come here, princess! Daddy’s home!”  _

_ Bobbi, now nine, couldn’t remember what it was like to feel warmth at those words. As it was, ice was already running through her veins. What would her father want her to do today? She’d already done the dishes by hand yesterday. And cleaned the bathroom the day before when Robert’d dry heaved into the toilet one too many times. Still, with Ann at work for the next few hours, it was up to the youngest Morse to keep control. _

_ She straightened her back -- slouching would earn her a cheek, and it was still stinging from the day before -- and marched out into the living room. “Hi, Daddy.” _

_ “Why d’you look so down in the dumps, ey, honey?” Bobbi didn’t even react when Robert scooped her into his arms and spun her around. She didn’t shriek with happiness anymore when he did that. She didn’t even allow the tendrils of hope to sneak up into her stomach anymore -- that today was maybe the day that her father was back. There’d already been too many false incidents, and Bobbi was tired of getting her hopes dashed. “Wanna go out to the park?” _

_ Bobbi didn’t want to point out that it was currently pouring cats and dogs outside, rain pounding the pavement hard as she’d ever seen it. “Sure, Daddy. The one down the street?”  _

_ “Thatta girl. Go get your coat and we’ll go.” He put Bobbi down abruptly, the ground slamming into the soles of her feet. She wiggled her toes a little to make sure they were all working before shuffling to get her shoes. The sound of beer bottles rattling in the kitchen were just background noise at this point as she shrugged her coat on. She couldn’t say she’d ever been forced to to go the playground before, though. This was new.  _

_ New meant a different set of variables Bobbi wasn’t prepared for. What if something happened that she didn’t know how to handle?  _

_ “Barbara! Come on, kiddo!” _

_ “Coming, daddy.” Bobbi did a quick stretch to make sure nothing would hurt before ambling out into the hallway with her raincoat. She watched as Robert fumbled the keys shut, then as he stumbled down the staircase, then sighed when the rain hit him full force.  _

_ “S’ a fuckin’ hurricane out here!” In her mild panic, Bobbi had forgotten to check if her father had been wearing a raincoat, and said man was now rapidly getting drenched while turning in circles. “Good thin’ ya got your boots’n, hm? C’mon. Lessgo.” He grabbed her hand and half dragged her down the sidewalk. “Jump in the puddles, Barbara!” Bobbi did so, wincing whenever Robert jumped a little  _ too  _ enthusiastically, splashing the passerby around them. “Sorry!” he would always call. “‘’M just havin’ fun withh my daughter!”  _

_ She wondered how long it’d been since he’d used that term sincerely.  _

_ It took them over twenty minutes to get to the end of the block, by which then, despite her best efforts, Bobbi was drenched through her thin raincoat. Robert seemed to care less. “Daddy, can we go home now?” she called. She wanted nothing more than to get home, get her father into a hot shower, and dry off. “It’s raining so much!”  _

_ “Nonsense!” Robert had other plans. “We’re going to play, princess. We came all this way.” With that, he was climbing onto the jungle gym, long limbs looking awkward in comparison to the small spaces on the gym. “C’mon!”  _

_ “N-n-no thanks, daddy,” Stand tall, she reminded herself. Stand tall and he wouldn’t try anything. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”  _

_ “‘M not going to get hurt,” Robert scoffed, waving a hand and automatically banging it against a pole. “Motherfucker!” Bobbi winced at the language. “Goddamn motherfucking pole! Hey, I bet I could pole dance,” She wrinkled her brow, the definition only becoming clear when Robert slid unceremoniously down the pole instead of gliding on it, as she assumed he meant to do. “Motherfucking pole! So slippery. Just like your mother.”  _

_ Oooookay. Bobbi’d heard some pretty bad potty jokes in class, but this didn’t even come close. What was Robert even talking about, anyways? She had to get him down from the pole. “Daddy, come on --” _

_ “I came to have fun, and I’m gonna have fun!” Robert got to his feet and stumbled towards Bobbi, trying to pick her up. “C’mon, ‘m gonna teach ya to pole dance.” It was only out of fear that she didn’t react the first time, freezing instead. “Get all the boys t’ look at ya, huh?” The pole smashed against her sternum. “Hold the pole, Barbara. Hold it.”  _

_ It wasn’t her fault it was raining. When Robert let her go, the water dissolved Bobbi’s grip, sending her sliding down with a shriek. Ew, now there were  _ definitely  _ woodchips in her raincoat. “C’mon, Barbara!” Robert yanked her up again and pushed her into the pole. “Hold’n tighter.” She knew she was going to slip as soon as she put her hands on the pole. “Ya weak,” he snarled. “Just like your mother.” Two hands covered hers in an iron grip. “Hold on like fucking this.”  _

_ Bobbi’s grip went slack, and soon, the only thing holding her to the pole were her father’s hand, clasped in hers. It was beginning to hurt her wrists.  _ Stay strong,  _ she reminded herself.  _ Don’t do anything that would make it worse.  _ She’d long given up trying to tell herself that there’d one day be star-shaped pancakes again.  _

_ “There!” Robert seemed pleased with himself. “Now ya gonna flip.” Bobbi’s world was turned upside down as she was forcibly turned on her head. Her wrists screamed in pain when they were wrenched the wrong way, fresh rain soaking her clothes. “Flip...over...you stupid..sack of shit...” _

_ “Stop!” She couldn’t help it. Her wrists felt like someone was tightening a bolt and she was the wrench. “You’re hurting me, daddy, please!” Not once in a year in a half had she begged her father for anything. (Not once in a year and a half had she referred to him as her father.) “Let me go!”  _

_ “You can do what you want once you flip!”  _

_ “No!” Would someone hear her if she yelled loud enough? It was raining, and the people that  _ were  _ on the streets were just trying to get from point A to point B. She’d be lucky. “Daddy, stop it! Please!”  _

_ Feet tumbled over head, and Bobbi’s knee met the pole in a spectacular collision. At the same time, Robert dropped her. Bobbi dangled for a minute before crumpling on the ground to the sound of laughter.  _

_ “Ya dropped over like a flapjack!” Robert hollered. Bobbi sat there for a half second, ears filled with rain and laughter, trying to catch her breath. Would he make her do it again? What should she do to prepare for it? Ow, her knee. “Les try it one more time. Ya flipped. Ya can do it again.”  _

_ “No,” Bobbi scrambled to her feet. “Please, Daddy, no. Please.” Robert lurched towards her, trying to pick her up again. It was only quick thinking that sent her a few feet back. If she hadn’t been so focused on not being pushed flush against the pole, she would’ve laughed: here was a grown man, soaked in the rain, obviously drunk, reaching ahead of him and mumbling about trying again. “I can’t do it again.”  _

_ “Ya can, and ya will.” Robert took another couple steps forward, breaking into a fast stumble. “C’mon, princess. Don’t you like playing with Daddy?” Bobbi’s own stumble backwards soon broke into a light jog, and her head grew fuzzy with each step she took. What was she supposed to do? She didn’t want to get hurt by the pole again. “Barbara, get back here, you piece ‘o shit!”  _

_ Going on the pole would make her daddy happy. She knew that. But she knew she couldn’t hold the pole properly. Not in the rain. And he would just keep trying and failing and hurting her. Maybe if she just started running back home, he would follow her? And then she’d be able to get him into a warm bath and maybe he would calm down a little until her momma came home. Yes. That was it.  _

_ “Catch me if you can!” she said as cheerily as she could, and took off in a run. Bobbi heard Robert let out a laugh before following her, his footsteps echoing just as loudly as the raindrops hitting the pavement. Her plan was working! All she had to do was cross the street and -- _

_ Wait a minute. Which crosswalk was it? Bobbi stared in confusion at the four crosswalks lining the long avenue, all of them leading to different streets. She had to keep moving, or else her daddy would catch her.  _ Pick a number, Bobbi,  _ she said to herself.  _ One to four. One, two, three...

_ “Three!” One quick glance behind her confirmed Robert was still following, although gaining ground fast. Bobbi took off as fast as her little yellow rain boots would let her, skidding to a stop at the third crosswalk and hitting the walk button as hard as she could. She couldn’t let Robert catch up to her, she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she couldn’t... _

_ “WAIT.” _

_ “Come on!” Why did traffic lights have to be so long, anyways? If she ever met the person in charge of running traffic lights, she’d ask them to make it shorter. “Please? My daddy’s gonna catch up any minute now!”  _

_ “Are you okay, honey?” a lady next to her asked kindly. “What did you mean your daddy’s gonna catch up with you?” _

_ That was a funny question. And not one random people should be asking. Bobbi opened her mouth to answer as such when the crosswalk turned to walk, and instead of giving the lady a few seconds, Bobbi dashed across the street and kept running up the avenue. She didn’t stop to see if Robert was behind her -- he’d catch up eventually, and she  _ couldn’t _ let that happen. Up and up the avenue she ran, her breath and the rain echoing in her ears.  _

_ It was only when she realized she couldn’t hear the sounds of Robert’s belligerent yelling that she stopped and looked around, sucking in a breath at the sight of all of the unfamiliar buildings. This was most definitely not where her home was. That was most  _ definitely  _ not her apartment building.  _

_ She’d most definitely lost her father. (Oddly enough, the last one didn’t bother Bobbi as much as she thought it would.)  _

_ “Okay, Bobbi,” she said to herself. A tall man with an umbrella bumped into her, causing him to look down at the little girl clad in a bright yellow jacket and boots before snorting and moving on with his stride. She could swear she heard him muttering some funny words as he walked away. “Just stay here and someone will find you. Momma will find you. It makes it harder to find me if I keep moving. Find somewhere and stay there until Momma finds you.”  _

_ Resolve stiffened her shoulders, and she looked around to try and take stock of her surroundings. Awnings of every shape and size loomed over her head, all of them with funny things she didn’t understand and some she did. She could easily make out the word ‘fish’ and ‘hair’. Those were easy words. She was somewhere where there was fish and hair. Good.  _

_ Bobbi sniffed. Yep. There was something, alright. And it wasn’t too pretty.  _

_ She looked up at the awning she’d stopped under. It was a bright red, with more weird shapes and three words printed on a lit sign. “May,” Bobbi read. “LIke the month. G - g - gol...golden. Dr - dragon?”  _

_ (She was cold. Her brain couldn’t be helped.)  _

_ “May’s Golden Dragon,” she said finally. “Okay. Now I just need somewhere to sit.” Bobbi highly doubted that there would be room in May’s Golden Dragon for a soaked little girl escaping her drunken father. Plus, there would be more awkward people asking more awkward questions, and she didn’t need that. Momma had always said to never tell people anything. “Where do I sit?”  _

_ Bobbi turned in a full circle before she spotted the alley just a little up ahead, half toddling to it and peering down the dark corridor. It wasn’t her bed, but it would have to do. The ground looked pretty dry, anyways, and would hopefully stay so until her momma came. Putting both hands out in front of her -- for some reason, it felt right -- Bobbi ventured into the alley. The further she went in, the worse the fish smell got until she was close to dry heaving her  _ own  _ lunch.  _

_ Soon, she emerged into a small back square, where a large and relatively dry cardboard box sat next to a gray, battered metal door. Bobbi all but rushed towards the box, her legs crying out in relief when she sat down. “Okay, momma’s gonna find me,” she said. “Now I just gotta wait.” As withdrawn as she was, Ann Morse  _ had  _ to notice her husband and daughter were missing, didn’t she? _

_ “Momma’s gonna find me. She will.” _

* * *

 

_ She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she knew it’d been enough that the sky had grown blacker than the crayon in her school sets. Bobbi shivered; the rain had just broken, and while the cardboard box had helped initially, it had soon grown to be as soaked as she, providing little to no help.  _

_ She just wanted to go home, where there was her bed and her momma and (to some extent) her daddy. At least it would be better than staring at the building across from her.  _

_ “Momma will find me,” Bobbi repeated to herself, although the idea was weakening every time she said it to herself. “Momma  _ will  _ find me.”  _

_ Her stomach rumbled, and she tried to remember the last thing she’d eaten. It’d been at school. Lunch. A ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, and a carton of milk. It all seemed so long ago. Now, she’d give anything for even a crumb of bread.  _

_ “Momma will find me,” At this point, there wasn’t any meaning in her words. They were just what got her through the day. “Momma will find me.”  _

_ The back door creaked open, and a small figure emerged holding a giant Tupperware container of...something. Bobbi couldn’t exactly tell. “Alrighty, birdies, come on out!” As if on cue, several birds flocked to her feet, and the figure bent down to extend a small bit of the stuff in her hands to them. A rich, salty smell wafted towards Bobbi, her stomach growling unhelpfully. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t eaten in goodness knows how long.  _

_ “‘Xcuse me?” The figure jumped and turned towards her, half of the food in the container almost falling out. Bobbi could hear the disappointment in the birds’ chirping. “Um...I’m...” Bobbi cast her eyes down when her stomach growled again. “C’n I have some, please?” Use her words and always look down, her momma had said. It made the other person think they were better.  _

_ (Truthfully, all Bobbi wanted was some goddamn food.)  _

_ “Who’re you?” At that, Bobbi’s head snapped up. For the first time, she got a good look at the other person -- girl, she corrected herself. Long, wavy brown hair that framed an oval face and housed suspicious brown eyes. Which, given the circumstances, Bobbi figured were appropriate. “‘N why are you in th’ back o’ May’s?”  _

_ “I got lost,” Bobbi fibbed, not wanting to tell this small girl her entire story. “‘N I’m waitin’ for my momma to come find me.” She left out the part about her disbelief -- the other girl didn’t have to hear that, either. “‘M just really hungry. Can I -- c’n I please have some of that?” _

_ “How do I know you’re not just tryin’ to take our stuff?” _

_ Bobbi was silent for a minute. Her? Take things? “‘M not,” she said again. “‘M just hungry, please!” Her stomach growled once more, tears springing to her eyes. “Please! I don’t wanna take your things, ‘m just hungry ‘n I want my momma!” The stress of the day was getting to her, and Bobbi wiped her eyes with her already-wet raincoat sleeve. “‘M  _ hungry! _ ”  _

_ “Oh, no, please don’t cry,” The other girl was already ambling towards Bobbi, a large piece of food of food in her hand. “Mama says it’s not nice to make other people cry. I didn’t mean to. Here.” The food was waved in her face. “It’s mama’s scallion pancakes. She makes them a lot in the restaurant, and I always give the rest to the birdies. But you’re hungry, so I guess you can have some. Lotsa people probably feed the birdies anyways.” _

_ “‘M Skye,” she continued to chirp as Bobbi took a bite of the scallion pancake, her eyes going wide. She’d never eaten anything like this before! “‘M seven years old, I got adopted from the sisters by my mama -- her name is Melinda. Melinda May --  and my favorite food is scallion pancakes.” Bobbi was looking at her expectantly with greasy fingers and red eyes. “What’s your name? Then I’ll give you another piece.”  _

_ “‘M Bobbi,” the small blonde said, and held out her hand. True to her word, Skye handed her another piece. “‘M nine years old, my momma’s named Ann, and my favorite food is star shaped pancakes.” Not that she’d had them in a while. She doubted she’d ever have them again.  _

_ “Bobbi,” Skye mused, handing Bobbi another piece and smiling widely when the nine-year-old scarfed it down. “That’s a pretty name. Like your hair. It looks like sunshine.” The frown dropped. “Bobbi, you’re all wet!”  _

_ Bobbi looked sheepishly down at herself. She’d stopped noticing the squish her socks made about an hour ago. “Oh. I, um...I don’t know how long I’ve been out here..”  _

_ “I gotta get you dry!” Skye exclaimed, thrusting the container into Bobbi’s arms and hoisting the door wide. “My teacher Miss Hand says that if you’re wet too long, you could get really sick! C’mon!” When Bobbi stayed rooted to the spot (minus two bulging cheeks full of scallion pancake), Skye tutted. “Whaddya waiting for?!” _

_ “I...” How was Bobbi supposed to tell her she needed to wait for her momma? To cling to her last fiber of hope until it was lost among the bits of scallion pancake? And what if there was an adult in the house that found about her daddy? “What if somebody sees me?” _

_ Skye scoffed. “No one’s gonna see you,” she told Bobbi confidently. “It’s dinnertime, and everyone’s in the dining room. We’ll get you up there lickety-split!” That sent her up the back stairs, Bobbi bobbling behind her with a water trail dripping from her coat. As she’d predicted, neither girl ran into a single adult until they were in Skye’s room. The smaller girl was already scrambling for clothes and a towel while Bobbi just stood there, picking at the last of the crumbs in the container.  _

_ “Here’s some pants, a shirt, and a sweatshirt ‘cause you’re probably cold, and a towel.” Skye handed the items over with a blush. “I didn’t know if you wanted to keep your underwear. I can probably dry it with the hair dryer if you want.”  _

_ Bobbi took the clothes numbly. Who was this girl, unashamedly offering her hospitality? More importantly, how was she supposed to repay it? “T - t - thanks,” she stuttered out, before realizing that she was indeed shivering up a storm. “Where’s...bathroom?”  _

_ “I’ll take you,” Skye declared, gently taking hold of Bobbi’s shoulders and steering her to the bathroom. At the touch, Bobbi flinched hard.  _

_ “Don’t touch me!”  _

_ “‘M sorry!” Skye yanked her hands back. “Uh...I’ll point?” Bobbi nodded, clutching the clothes tightly. “Go straight,” she began, and Bobbi cautiously stepped forward. “See that blue door at the end of the hallway? Go to it, and there’s a door on your right. That’s the bathroom. I use the pink soap ‘cause it smells like cotton candy.” Another step forward. She wasn’t sure yet if she was still dreaming. “Oh. Um. Bobbi?” _

_ “Yeah?”  _

_ “D’you...d’you want more scallion pancakes?” _

_ Bobbi’s stomach answered instead.  _

_ “Okay!” Skye beamed, and Bobbi had to marvel again at the sheer amount of trust this girl was placing in her. “My door’s the one with all of the stars when you’re done, and we can have some more pancakes and figure out how to talk to your momma, okay?” She was halfway down the hallway when Bobbi spoke shakily.  _

_ “Skye? Um, that’s your name, right?”  _

_ “That’s my name,” Skye quipped jokingly. “Mama always says that’s where my energy level is.”  _

_ “I...I don’t wanna talk to my momma,” Bobbi had figured that if her momma had really cared, she would’ve found her by now. And if they hadn’t found her by now, they most likely never would. “Or my daddy.” All she really wanted were more pancakes. They were really growing on her. “Do you mind...would it be okay...I mean, I can just go back outside to the box...” _

_ “You’re not going back to the box,” Skye said, all traces of joking gone from her tone. “I already said I’m not letting you get sick, and you’ll get sick if you go back into the box. We can both fit in the bed.”  _

_ “But what happens tomorrow?” What happened when Skye had to go to school (she assumed she did)? What happened when she overstayed her hospitality? Where would she go? Bobbi didn’t even know how to get home -- and if she did go home, the question remained: would she want to?  _

_ In the last fifteen minutes, she’d gotten more love and caring from a seven-year-old than she had from either of her parents in the last year and a half. She may have only been nine, but even then she’d already known which was the superior situation.  _

_ Skye grinned. “Tomorrow’s Saturday! Mama has to work the dim sum shift, but we can watch cartoons all morning and have Lucky Charms! But you have to go back into my room when Mama gets back upstairs, though. I don’t think she’ll be really happy to find out that someone’s hiding in my room.” A small ‘shoo’ motion. “Now take a shower. A hot one!” _

* * *

 

_ Whenever she told the story, Skye liked to exaggerate that it was a week before May discovered that her foster daughter was doing some fostering of her own.  _

_ In reality, however, the small girl only made it the weekend before May discovered Bobbi sleeping in Skye’s bed Monday morning prior to waking Skye up for school. (May was fond of adding that Bobbi slept in constant downward dog, butt straight up in the air.)  _

_ “Skye,” May said sharply, causing the small girl to jerk awake. “What’s this?”  _

_ “Wha?” Skye asked fuzzily. May pointed sharply at Bobbi, who was drooling just a little onto Skye’s pillowcase. “Oh. Tha’s Bobbi.” She was still a little too sleepy to comprehend just exactly was going on, “I foun’ her.” _

_ “You  _ found  _ her?” May asked, and this time, her tone woke Bobbi, who immediately squeaked in fear and pulled the covers to her chin. “What do you mean,  _ you found her _?”  _

_ “I’m sorry!” Bobbi burst out, her eyes filling with tears. “I was -- I was hungry ‘n I was lost ‘n Skye was givin’ pancakes to the birds ‘n I was hungry ‘n I was waiting for my momma to find me ‘n Skye said I was gonna get sick and brought me up ‘n I’m really sorry, Miss!” In her hurry to get out of the bed, Bobbi tripped, landing flat on her face. “I’m really sorry, please don’t call the police on me!”  _

_ “Okay, honey, breathe for me?” The girl’s odd behavior had been enough to let May know that this hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment Skye decision (as she was so often prone to), and she bent down. “Breathe. We’re not gonna get anywhere if you don’t breathe.” When the sobs quieted to hiccups, May gently ran a hand over the blonde curls, her frown deepening when the small girl flinched. “What exactly happened? I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened?” _

_ Bobbi hadn’t intended to tell her the entire story. It ended up just sort of slipping out.  _

_ “‘N I don’t wanna go back there, please don’t make me go back there,” Bobbi sniffled. “I’ll. I’ll do anything so I don’t have to go back there.” She didn’t want to slam herself into more objects, be on the receiving end of more slaps and clean more bathrooms. She wanted star shaped pancakes and her lollipop wand.  _

_ Most of all, she yearned to control the sun again. To reclaim the small part of her childhood she’d had to leave behind too soon.  _

“And what happened after that?” Phil asked. They’d abandoned the lobster some time ago, Davis having brought over a box of tissues and a plate of scallion pancakes at some point in the story. Bobbi smiled a little ruefully and wiped her eyes once more. “I mean, I know May adopted you eventually -- you’re standing here is all -- but what happened between then and there?” 

Bobbi reached for a lobster tail, cracking it open loudly. “Well,” she said. “I stayed with May for close to a week before the cops knocked on the door, asking about me. Apparently my dad -- yeah, don’t worry, I was surprised too -- made the biggest stink about me going missing, and when the cops told him I was here, he showed up at the restaurant babbling all sorts of apologies. Even held up a seven days sober AA chip. Not that I knew those didn’t actually exist at the time.” 

“Anyways, they took May to court for my custody. I almost went back, didn’t want May to get caught up in all of the legal drama. But she took me aside one night and told me in the scariest voice that I was, and I quote, ‘damn well not going anywhere with that dysfunctional family. You’re staying right here with Skye and I’. She won. Probably helped that neither of my biological parents could answer a single question about me.” 

Phil was silent for a moment, finger twiddling with a lobster leg. He wasn’t sure what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to interview Bobbi, but it’d definitely been a lot more than he’d bargained for. “I, uh...forgive me for being speechless,” he said honestly. “You’re far braver than many people I’ve known, Bobbi. I don’t think I could’ve stood for a day to do what you did.” 

Bobbi blushed but broke another lobster tail in half. “Like I said to Fitzo, it’s been eight years. I don’t mind sharing what happened to me. It’s why I want to go to law school. I don’t want to see another kid like me ever again. Not shivering in a cardboard box behind a Chinese restaurant, not hiding under the bridge in Central Park, not  _ anywhere _ . Not if I can help it.” 

“Really and truly, Bobbi. Thank you for your story.” Both of them turned to see Fitz choking on a tiny piece of lobster shell that seemed to have been stuck in his claw meat. “Fitz, man, you good?” 

Fitz wheezed loudly when Bobbi whacked him hard on the back. “I’m good, Phil. Thanks for asking.” 

“I trust you’ll do her well,” came a voice, and all three of them looked up to see May. “Fitz, I need you in the kitchen to see how well this new chef cooks. Bobbi, you’re on tonight with Piper, go change and clock in.” 

“Aye aye, matey,” Both Bobbi and Fitz did a fake salute before high-fiving each other. “Phil?” The aforementioned man turned and looked. “Thanks,” Bobbi said sincerely. “I’m...I’m not great with emotions, but I’m glad it was you. I think you’ll do a good job with it."

Phil watched her go with a new pressure settling on his shoulders. Oh, boy. Deadlines  _ and  _ expectations. How did people accomplish both at the same time? “Don’t look at me,” May said with a coy smile when he turned to her. “There aren’t that many people that know. I think it’s Skye, Fitz, me, and now you.”

“Do me proud, Phil,” she said, and oh, did the words warm him. “Do me proud.”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! i think we all know what that means...
> 
> SKYE TIME! WOOT


	13. Fried Shrimp, Mayo, and Candied Walnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Skye wonders about dates, a photoshoot goes on, and May's accidentally picks up another member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a nice 4th (if you're in the States)! If not, I hope you're enjoying July, at the very least. :)

If asked, Jade Wong would, under no circumstance, admit that she was full-on sprinting down the sidewalk towards May’s Golden Dragon. She would _not_ admit that she’d accidentally knocked into three elderly women, would _not_ admit she’d tripped over a couple of cracks in the sidewalk, and most _certainly_ not admit she’d missed the entrance to the restaurant while going headlong down the avenue.

Not at all.

So she was late. Sue her for wanting to make a good impression on her club partner. They’d only met twice. And the second time didn’t even count, as they’d both been scarfing down death personified into peppers.

“OW!”

“Hey, watch it, that’s a -- oh! Jade, right?” _Mack, right_ ? Jade thought woozily as she tried to make the world stay still. Last she’d checked, there hadn’t been three streetlamps within a three foot radius of each other. “Hey, uh, you’re looking a little woozy. Come on in. We’ll sit you down.” Jade just blinked hazily as the larger security guard led her into a photoshoot setup that seemed to be worthy of _Vogue_ , rather than the dining room of a small (yet somehow infamous) restaurant.

She watched two of a short-ish man hurry by, followed by two of a very pregnant lady with a camera strung around her neck. Blink. Ah. There it was. Now there was one pregnant lady. There were still two short-ish men, though. “What...” Damn right she was confused. And not just because she’d run into a (yet to be determined) object, either. “Ow...”

“You hit your head pretty hard there,” came a bemused voice, and Jade looked up to Bobbi, who was holding out an ice pack with a raised eyebrow. “Any particular reason you were rushing, Wong?” She had to admit, the blonde had some bite to her. Back in her boarding school days, maybe she would’ve been someone she had a little fun with. One of those straight-laced cheerleaders that experimented before going back to their boyfriends. Hm. Jade took the ice pack and held it to her head. Fuck, there was a bump already?

“Homecoming dress shopping,” she answered, shooting Bobbi her most dazzling grin. To her credit, the older May stepped back a hot second in surprise before recovering. “Some GSA big/little bonding activity. Gotta get it in somehow. I’m a little more partial to a pantsuit myself, but hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Bobbi just managed to bite back a sound of surprise. GSA? What was her little sister doing at GSA? What was her little sister doing with _Jade Wong_ at GSA? And why hadn't Skye asked _her_ to go homecoming dress shopping? Had their little tiff extended so far that she would eschew tradition? What the _hell_?

Maybe she could get Jade to take Skye to homecoming instead. At least it'd be better than Grant Ward by a long shot.

In the doorway of the kitchen, May stopped and watched the conversation unfold with curiosity. What was Jade Wong doing here? Why was she talking to Bobbi?

And most importantly -- was she ready to come back and help her make some fried shrimp? The restaurant had gotten awfully lonely without her. “Miss Wong,” she called, causing the two girls to jump and look towards the kitchen. “Didn’t think I’d see your face for a while,”

“Miss May,” Jade grinned, standing up and striding towards her. “A long time no see, indeed. I hope you’ve got some fried shrimp for me.” If there’d been anything Jade’d missed about living in New York, it was Melinda May’s fried shrimp. _Nothing_ held a candle to it out there in Colorado. “Tell me I didn’t spend two years out in Denver for nothing.”

“Only if you tell me what you’re doing here,” May gave her a saucy wink. “Just so you know, no one dates Fitz without taking the spice exam first,” Somewhere in the back of the kitchen, Fitz gave a loud squawk that had both women bursting into laughter. “Oh, the poor thing. Still seizes up whenever I try to set him up with someone. You think he’d learn.”

“Trust me, I’m not here for your chef,” The unsaid _I'm not here for men_ sizzled in the room. Bobbi, who'd heard the rumors, raised an eyebrow and looked between the women. This would either get really good or really bad. “Little bit too bland for my taste, if you know what I mean.” Wow. Jade’d managed to make it somehow good _and_ bad. “I’m actually here for Skye. Is she around?”

May raised another eyebrow and held it. When had Jade Wong met her daughter? _Where_ had Jade Wong met her daughter? And most importantly, _why_ had Jade Wong met her daughter? She had so many questions. “Skye’s upstairs, last time I checked. Just a second.” Good. No sign of curiosity or anything. Melinda May was anything but a nosy mother. It also kept her in the neutral zone, just in case Jade was here for a date. “SKYE!!!!!”

A startled THUMP came from behind the door leading up to the May’s apartment, and it swung open to see a wide-eyed Skye, scrambling to recover from having had her ear pressed against the wood. “Oh, hey, hi Mom! Bobbi,” she added with much less enthusiasm. (Bobbi winced.) “Jade! You’re early!”

“Early?” Mack echoed from the door. “She ran into me on the way here! Early, my ass!” When Skye gave Jade an incredulous look, the taller girl shrugged in what she _hoped_ was a nonchalant manner.

“I didn’t want to be late!”

“Piping hot dim sum, coming through!” Piper yelled as she guided a cart through the pile of photography equipment set up in the middle of the room. “And yes, I got the pun,” she said to Skye, who’d opened her mouth. “I am _not_ a part of the dim sum, May.” Food was speedily moved from the cart to the table and tea poured without a single drop to the pristine white tablecloth.

“Excellent,” called a voice from the other corner of the room, and they turned to see Phil framing the scene between his thumb and index fingers with a woman at his side. Jade noted it was the one she’d seen two of earlier, casually wondering where she shopped. “Okay, where are my subjects?” Mack could be heard opening the door to the restaurant and greeting the regulars in flawless Mandarin, most of whom were astounded by the change in decor.

May had to stifle a laugh when she caught the occasional curse about white people taking everything over. It wasn’t _entirely_ false, after all.

Skye turned to Jade apologetically. “I was hoping to get out before this,” she admitted sheepishly. “Would you mind staying for lunch?” Jade hesitated. “I swear it’s not a date!” Skye blurted out. “It’s just lunch. Phil’s boss is paying. Hell, you can even pay if you want. And it’s dim sum! Not anything fancy, but of course, you already knew that, seeing as you come here a lot and all. Wait. Why’d I say it was a date? I’m not gay. Well, I mean, I don’t think I’m completely _straight_...did I just say that out loud?” She trailed off into a sheepish blush, holding her left arm awkwardly while Jade stared at her amusedly. “Heh. So. Would you...like to stay for lunch?”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” May and Piper yelled from the kitchen in perfect unison. Bobbi facepalmed behind them. Jade really had walked right into that one. (They’d ignore Skye’s small confession for now. That was something to unpack later.)

A giant plate of fried shrimp, cashews and mayo was set into the center of one of the tables. Jade took that as a sign. “Lunch would be great,” she grinned, and May and Piper high-fived in the background. “On one condition.”

“Anything” tumbled out of Skye’s mouth a little too fast.

Jade pointed to the table with the shrimp. “We’re sittin’ over there, and you’re gonna tell me about your homecoming date so we can knock him dead.”

* * *

 

“Piper, Bobbi, you’re with me,” May called as soon as the last of the special tablecloths were put away. Phil was in the corner discussing details with Mrs. Davis while taking last-minute photos of the restaurant. They’d gotten a couple of chances to interact during the photoshoot, but they’d all been about who _not_ to photograph (the Li family was downright dangerous when they started arguing about their mother’s house) and the order of lifeforces.

In all honesty, she’d been hoping to get a little bit of advice from Phil after Skye’s mini confession. Had it counted as a full one? Was Skye saying it to wash herself of potential homosexuality? Had she accidentally raised a homophobe?

And what was Jade Wong doing there? Why had Bobbi gone on the defensive on seeing her? May sighed. She hadn’t been _this_ complicated when she’d been a teenager, had she? Note to self: call her mother and find out.

Plus, Phil was looking pretty spiffy in his gray suit today. Not that that was the main thing she wanted to tell him. He’d bustled around with so much energy today she’d wasn’t sure if she was scared of his force or mildly aroused. (And she didn’t think about Phil like that, no sirree...)

 _“Oh my god, the walnuts,” he'd moaned upon taking his first bite of their featured dish: honey-mayo shrimp with candied walnuts and broccoli._ _“Why the hell are these walnuts so good? Mel, tell Fitz he's holding out on me!”_ _Phil licked his lips and reached for more shrimp. “Shit, I need some of those to go. I gotta take some to Roz.”_

_Right. Exactly why she didn't make a move. She wouldn't get in the way of that._

“Where we going?” Bobbi asked, shrugging on a jacket. “We’re not tailing Skye on her trip to the mall, are we? ‘Cause Hope’s with them, and I’m pretty sure she’ll just tell us anything we ask her.” She wouldn’t put it past her mother, either -- once, she’d tailed Piper on one of her blind dates all the way to Long Island just because she hadn’t met the man.

“No, not this time,” May answered, and the entire dining staff hid a snigger. “We’ve got to go down to Pell. I ran out of lifeforce during the lunch service, and the Kings are supposed to come in tonight.” Bobbi groaned. She hated dealing with the mafia, _especially_ the Kings. For some reason, they went above fake handbags and specialized in human trafficking instead. Why May let them in, she’d never know. “Don’t make that face. It’ll be in and out, especially if I bring you. For some reason that always gets them to agree to things.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Davis piped up jokingly from the other end of the restaurant. “Is it because she looks like the beguiling American they can swindle all of their money out of?”

“Please, we all know that’s why we hired you,” Bobbi shot back, and Phil, Piper and Mrs. Davis let out a loud ‘ _oh!’_ before putting a finger in the air and adding, ‘ _tssss_ ’. May just shook her head. Children, the lot of them. It really was too bad she couldn’t bring Skye. Bobbi was good, but Skye usually meant things would go ten times quicker.

Speaking of Skye -- “Bobbi, what do you know about Jade Wong?”

She didn’t expect her daughter to talk for a whole three blocks. (She didn’t expect the rumors about being kicked out of boarding school, either, but she _really_ hadn’t expected Bobbi to talk for three blocks straight. And they’d been _long_ blocks.)

“So yeah. That’s it. I’m worried that he’s gonna take advantage of her and that she’ll only get with Jade as a rebound because Mom, I’m pretty sure Jade’s been one of the first friends Skye’s made by herself. All of her friends are my friends, and while I love her, _she needs her own friends_. Is there any way you can scare Grant Ward into pissing his pants when he picks her up for homecoming?”

May never thought she’d be so relieved to end up at a mafia headquarters. Even if they were on a shady street exceeding Chinatown shady standards. “I swear I’m not against Skye being gay,” Bobbi was still babbling. “It doesn’t matter if she’s gay or straight or bi or pan or ace or aro or anything in between, she’s still my sister and I love her just the same, but Grant Ward is a _real fucking_ \--”

“Bobbi, honey, I love you, but shut up. We’re here.” Now she remembered why she preferred bringing Skye. All she did was complain about the number of cigarette butts on the sidewalk and continual smell of fish. “Piper, you’re carrying?”

“Locked and loaded. By the way, you think we can look into a shotgun axe?”

“I’m not even going to ask why you need one.”

“Because it lets you shoot first and axe to finish the job, so it’s doubly effective -- you know what, I’ll just show you when we get back to the restaurant. Bobbi, take a knife, will ya?”

May just rolled her eyes and opened the door.

Almost immediately, they were toppled over by a figure sprinting out the door, followed by three more burly Chinese men. A round of bullets flying over their heads accompanied it, and May tackled Bobbi on instinct to cover her. “What the hell?!” Piper yelled, pulling out her gun. “This isn’t how it happened the last time!”

“Nope, most definitely can agree!” Bobbi yelled back. “I think we walked into the middle of something!” She covered her ears when Piper let loose a few shots. “When did you learn how to shoot, Pipes? Can you teach me?”

“NO!” May yelled from on top of her at the same time Piper yelled, “YES!” All three women took advantage of a lull in the gunfire to scramble off of the ground and down half the block. Bobbi recognized the Kings’ members as soon as she saw them -- she tended to remember the people that ogled her day and in and day out.

Two members were backing a slim, Latina woman against a graffitied wall, rapid Spanish whizzing between them. One of the men took out a gun. _“Realmente no deberías haber corrido,”_ he told her, and all three of them had to stop and tilt their heads for a minute. How was his Spanish better than his English?

The woman spat in their faces. That’s it. Piper was impressed. “Can I shoot them yet?” she whined to May. “They’re so douchebaggy! They always talk about how my hair doesn’t look like a woman’s.” Pouting, she ran a hand through her short, cropped hair. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Right?”

_"No soy tuyo para ser vendido, maldito!!”_

May looked to Bobbi for translation. Bobbi looked back with an deadpan expression that screamed equal confusion. “I took six years of Spanish, Mom. People need to speak more slowly if they want me to understand them.”

_“Zhǐ xū pāishè biǎo zi bìng jiāng tā wánchéng. Tā bù zhíqián.”_

“Oh, shit. That much I know,” Bobbi muttered as Piper let out a loud war cry and charged the small group, firing completely blind. “GET DOWN!” she yelled at the woman, and tackled her to the sidewalk while the normally calm waitress unloaded her magazine with a speed normally reserved for dim sum derby.

May wandered into the fray as well. _“Gàosù nǐ de lǎobǎn wǒmen jīntiān guānménle. Méiyǒu shíwù,”_ she yelled at one of the goons before stabbing him with a knife she’d produced from seemingly nowhere. “And stop perving on my daughter,” she tacked on. “She knows, Gao. She _knows._ You’re not being particularly subtle when you’re rubbing your pants, you know.” When both men were on the ground, she turned to Bobbi, who was still on top of the escapee. “You good, honey?”

“Just peachy -- OW!” Bobbi yelped when the woman elbowed her in the stomach. “What the hell, I’m trying to _help_ you!” She scrambled off of the escapee while the other woman scrambled to her feet, warily pointing a knife at them.

 _“¿Quién eres tú? ¿Dónde estoy? ¿Para quién trabajas?”_ When none of them answered, the knife was pointing a tad more threateningly. _“¿Dónde estoy??”_

More looks towards Bobbi.

 _“Nueva...Nueva York,”_ she managed to get out, still holding her stomach. _“Estados Unidos.”_

The look of suspicion lessened somewhat. The knife didn’t. _“¿Quién eres tú?”_

 _“Mi nombre es Bobbi May,”_ Well, at least she could do this part. Bobbi exhaled a little. Practiced this in class millions of times. _“Tengo 17 años, me gusta leer y tengo una hermana llamada Skye --”_

“I didn’t ask for an interview.” The English was rough, but there -- and it still startled Bobbi silent. What good was taking a foreign language class if that wasn’t how the conversation started every time? “Your accent is terrible. Who do you work for?”

Bobbi dumbfoundedly jerked a thumb at May. The knife swivelled. _“¿Quién te puso a esto?”_ May looked towards Bobbi. “Stan? Kevin? Or Ivan?”

“Who’re --” Piper began to ask, but was cut off by the knife being swung.

_“¿Quién fue??!”_

“No one!” Bobbi blurted out. The knife swung towards her again, and she gulped. It looked a lot less threatening when it wasn’t being pointed towards her. _“Ella es, eh ... ella es mi madre,”_ she began. _“Ella posee un restaurante a dos calles. Soy, eh...una camarera._ ” She would _definitely_ be paying attention in Spanish from now on.

_“Ella no se parece a tu madre.”_

Bobbi winced. Even when there was a language barrier, it still came up. _“Soy adoptado._ Mom, Pipes, hold up the most restauraunt-y thing you have on you.” Piper held up her order pad and a pen. May held up a bottle of Sriracha and some chopsticks. (Bobbi didn't question either of those.)

Both women assumed the neutral face of polite interest they used when being hit on. It was a pretty big hit on Friday nights.

 _“Ven a nuestro restaurante. Lo probaremos.”_ Bobbi looked to May for silent approval. Her mother nodded in agreement; hopefully she hadn't promised anything too extravagant. _“Y, uh ... si necesitas un lugar donde quedarte, podemos ayudarte con eso también.”_

The woman sighed. “I wanted to come here for a better life.” May nodded -- she'd seen this story too many times to count. “Instead I got sold and traded like a _whore!”_

“Then come with us,” May answered. “I can give you a job, a place to stay. Until you get back on your feet and can get back home.” She held out her hand. “Melinda May.”

Taken and shaken. “Elena. Rodriguez.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realmente no deberías haber corrido - you really shouldn't have run.
> 
> No soy tuyo para ser vendido, maldito! - I'm not yours to be sold, dickwad!
> 
> Zhǐ xū pāishè biǎo zi bìng jiāng tā wánchéng. Tā bù zhíqián - just shoot the bitch and get it over with. she's not worth the money.
> 
> Gàosù nǐ de lǎobǎn wǒmen jīntiān guānménle. Méiyǒu shíwù - tell your boss we're closed today. no lifeforce.
> 
> ¿Quién eres tú? ¿Dónde estoy? ¿Para quién trabajas? - who are you? where am i? who do you work for?
> 
> Mi nombre es Bobbi May... Tengo 17 años, me gusta leer y tengo una hermana llamada Skye - my name is Bobbi May, I'm 17 years old, I have a sister named Skye
> 
> Ella posee un restaurante a dos calles. Soy, eh...una camarera - She owns a restaurant a few streets up. I'm a waitress.
> 
> Ella no se parece a tu madre - She doesn't look like your mother
> 
> Y, uh ... si necesitas un lugar donde quedarte, podemos ayudarte con eso también - Come to our restaurant. We'll prove it. And, uh...if you need a place to stay, we can help you with that too.
> 
> Soy adoptado - i'm adopted
> 
>  
> 
> please send all of your blames to Google Translate


	14. Dan Taat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jade, Skye and Hope look for dresses, Hope gets _real _fed up with the unresolved tension, and Jade has a _lot _of straightening out to do.____

“So you’ve never been to a public school homecoming,” Skye remarked with relish as she and Jade scuffed the tiles of the mall. “Never.” They’d somehow made it through an entire meal without any of the Mays (or Mackenzies. Or Phil, for that matter) questioning Jade’s presence. Piper had kept piling on the dim sum, Phil had taken constant photos, and even Mrs. Davis had taken up their time, telling them to move every which way.

Of course, it hadn’t stopped Bobbi from giving her sister the wounded hippo look. Skye knew that not asking her to go homecoming dress shopping with her was a bit of a Bitch Move, but in her defense, Bobbi had been pulling some of her own lately. Implying that Skye was anything _but_ flagrantly straight? Pffft.

(It’d also been why she’d gone with Jade -- she’d be a solid control test. If Skye could agree with the things Jade said about girls they passed at the mall, _maybe_ there’d be some thinking to do. But until then, there was nothing to change.)

“Never been,” Jade agreed, grabbing a water bottle out of her bag and chugging it straight down. Skye watched as a drop spilled out of the side of her mouth and down her neck before shaking her head. _Focus._ “Is it as bad as they say it is in the movies? Where everyone makes a spectacle of who the homecoming queen is and the mean girl tries to sleep with her stepbrother?”

Skye looked down at Hope, who’d begged to come along at the last minute. Being the overly gracious babysitter she was, she’d relented. It also took a little bit of the ‘date’ feeling out of the whole thing, too. She wasn’t sure she was _quite_ ready for that. “You didn’t hear any of that, kiddo.”

Hope just rolled her eyes. “Heard what, Skye?”

“Atta kiddo. We’ll buy you some _dan taat_ on the way out.”

 _“Yes!”_ Hope fist-pumped and scampered a bit ahead to look at a nearby display window. Skye turned her attention back to Jade.

“To answer your question, yeah and no, honestly. It’s not _Not Another Teen Movie --_ Chris Evans doesn’t kiss Chyler Leigh, also, that’s _super_ weird to me! He’s...Captain America, and she’s...Lexie Grey! Ugh, I love them both --” Jade raised her eyebrows, and Skye wanted to sink into the floor a little. Just a _little_. “But there is a spectacle about the homecoming royalty. Every fucking year without fail. You can probably guess who’s on the shortlist.

Judging by the hierarchy of her first few days, Jade could harbor a guess. “Grant Ward, probably. Your sister?” She winked at Hope. “You?”

Skye choked. _Jade_ , think _she_ was good enough to be homecoming royalty? _Jade_ thought she was pretty enough to win a crown?? Jade thought she was _pretty?_ There wasn't any recovering from that. None whatsoever. Maybe Bobbi was right. But only a little.

“Pffft,” she finally stuttered out. “Me? Get homecoming? Please. The only thing I get are Bobbi's sloppy seconds.” The other girl hummed and nodded, and for a minute or two, both of them fell into step.

Honestly, Jade wasn’t surprised Bobbi had been the focus of many a male gaze. She wouldn’t be surprised, either, if she’d been the focus of some female gazes. Hers included, really. What was not to like? Bobbi was tall, blonde, blue eyes that could drown if she wasn’t careful enough. (She’d noticed them when they’d first met, but there was a difference between noticing a girl’s eyes as a Straight and noticing them as a full-stop lesbian. There really was.)

But Bobbi...if Jade _really_ stopped to think about it, the more she found she couldn’t entertain the thought. Not just because Bobbi was straighter than the lines of cocaine she’d seen Veronica Sinclair snort back in boarding school, but because she’d always seemed to be at a point in time somewhere in the distant future. Skye had even confirmed it -- her sister compared law schools like girls compared their boyfriends, and now that she apparently had her heart set on going to NYU, everything before it was almost meaningless.

Jade, on the meanwhile, wasn’t even sure what she’d eat for dinner.

“And it’s just like, I want a boy for myself, y’know?” Skye’s ranting brought Jade out of her head and back to the conversation. “I just think Bobbi’s jealous Grant Ward didn’t ask _her_ to homecoming first before me. And then she had the _audacity_ to tell me to stay off him, because he’s bad news? Like, yeah, I know Bobbi’s fucking gorgeous with that whole blue eyes blonde hair thing, but it’s not everyone’s type.” She caught Jade’s eye and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I mean, unless she’s your type.” Jade could date her sister. Totally could. It was _fine_.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t date your sister,” The notion made Jade chuckle a little. “Blonde’s not really my type.” She could swear Skye perked up a little at the mention, and decided to push it a bit further. “More of a brunette, if y’know what I mean.” Skye’s face flamed, and Jade mentally high-fived herself.

Skye was...different, for lack of a better word. She hadn’t believed the rumors, to begin with. And there’d been a spark in the shorter brunette the first time they’d spoken that had impressed Jade -- she hadn’t expected that. Skye was passionate about everything and everyone: she saw it in the way she’d handed Bobbi the prize money, the pride in which she’d spoken about who she was, even in the way she interacted with Hope.

It really was a shame she was straight -- Jade had to take a hard beating to the voice in the back of her head that whined otherwise. This was her _friend_. Until she came out of the closet (or didn’t at all, in which case she’d have to really think about what she was doing), Skye May was just as straight as her sister.

* * *

 

“What do you think Grant likes?” Skye threw out as they wandered into the first store. “I want to get something he’d like, y’know? I mean, he’s on the _football_ team. I _have_ to look good.” She frowned and rifled through a few racks. “Jade? Hope?”

“Lesbian,” Jade echoed at the same time Hope said, “ _You know_ ,”

“Okay, one, I don’t even want to know where you’re getting that knowledge, Hope,” Skye answered from behind the rack, “and two, Jade, doesn’t that _technically_ make you qualified? What do _you_ want to see in a girl?” Jade held back a snort. She knew the kind of boy Grant Ward was, if the homophobic slurs he’d yelled at her was any indication. Still, a big promise was a big promise -- she was gay, not petty. And trying to work past her genetic penchant of holding grudges.

“Red,” she admitted finally, and in her mind’s eye, flashed upon her friend in a classy red dress, heels and all -- sneakers, probably, Jade laughed to herself -- and she had to shake her head again. This was supposed to be for Grant, not her. “Chinese color and all, right? Plus, you’re killing your top right now.” Skye made a beeline for the rack of red dresses while Jade and Hope took the other, the sounds of hangers scraping the rack the only soundtrack to their search.

It wasn’t long before the three of them emerged with a suitable number of dresses and plodded to the changing room. Hope dutifully took a seat. “Jade?”

“What’s up, Hope?”

“Are you gonna do this too?” When Jade nodded, Hope swooned dramatically across the seat. “You mean I have to go through this _again_?”

“You’re the one who asked to come, kiddo,” Skye laughed through the curtain. “Tell you what. If you let Jade and I do this, we can do it for you too. Then you can take pictures with us on homecoming, how’s that?” Hope perked up, and Jade smiled inwardly. It was becoming of Skye, it seemed, to make sure that no one would get left out of things. Hope had had _much_ more opinion of the day than she’d expected.

It was very... _maternal_ , in a way. Jade had to take a minute to beat down the voice in the back of her head again. This really needed to stop.

“First dress -- Hope, drumroll please!” Hope rolled her eyes affectionately before drumming on the hard bench outside Skye’s changing stall as the curtain opened and the girl in question stepped out.

The dress in question was split into two pieces, a small sliver of Skye’s midriff showing between a tight, sleeveless berry red top and floral-patterned skirt. Red and blue flowers (were they orchids? Peonies? Jade made a note to visit the local flower shop when she returned) were spread out in no particular order against a white background, some with stem and leaves still attached.

Hope and Jade studied the dress with critical eyes. The former even poked Skye in the stomach. “Isn’t a dress supposed to be in _one_ piece? And it’s kinda bright. But it looks good with your hair! Wait.” She pointed to her babysitter’s hair. “Take your hair down.”

Bemused, Skye took her hair out of its loose ponytail, letting it tumble around her shoulders. The overall effect made her look slightly more feminine, Jade mused, but it was still a little too...delicate for a high school homecoming. Maybe a fancy luncheon on Central Park or something. “Kinda casual for homecoming, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Skye answered, already examining herself in the mirror. “But I think I’m gonna get it anyways. The mafia busted up the place last week and we just got the money.” She danced back into the dressing room, and Hope could be heard sighing loudly. “Next!”

* * *

 

“Ooh, hey, this matches my sneakers!”

Skye peeked out of the curtain sheepishly, and Jade and Hope looked up from where they were reading the _Golden Dragon_ group chat regarding the first dress. (Mack had lent his daughter his phone before leaving, playfully warning her not to play Pokemon Go in the streets. “Dad...you know what year it is, right?”) So far, there’d been disgust at the dress’ brightness from Bobbi, polite distaste at the flowers from May, and a neutral comment from Mack.

Hope wrinkled her nose. “Skye, did you lose half of the dress?” While darkened to a nice shade of maroon, only the bottom half of the current dress was solid. The top instead morphed into a striped pattern, strips of mesh cutting between the cloth. One mesh stripe was conveniently placed right above Skye’s chest, showing more skin than was probably deemed appropriate for a high school dress code.

Jade had a feeling their wizened principal would have a heart attack. “Were you planning to give Grant a show?” she teased instead. “If so, I’m telling Bobbi, and she’s going to murder him at the dance. You’ll win homecoming queen for _sure_.”

“What? No!” Skye examined herself in the mirror, picking at the strip above her chest. Hope slyly took a picture for the restaurant group chat.  “...can you really see that much?”

Grant Ward probably would think he wasn’t seeing _enough,_ Jade mused. “ _Yes,_ May. The only good solid piece is like those boob censors on _Maury_.”

Skye leveled her a long, hard look. “...the hell d’you watch _Maury_ for?”

* * *

 

“Check it out, Fitz is being an awkward klutz about the last dress,” Hope leaned over and showed Jade the group chat, laughing when she saw the poor boy’s apparent keyboard smashes and attempts to explain himself out of his apparent ogling.

 **Leo Fitz:** She’s got, uh...uh, those things

 **Melinda May:** What *things* _,_ Fitz? Spit it out

 **Bobbi May:** Yeah, Fitz. What things does my little sister have?

 **Melinda May:** Just remember your job’s on the line. Is all.

 **Leo Fitz:** fhdsfhaskfhdskjfhoz;dhfkjshfkjsdhfalf

 **Leo Fitz:** her

 **Leo Fitz:** her equipment

 **Bobbi May:** Wait, my sister’s packing? I’ve lived with the bitch for eight years, you’d think I’d have known

 **Melinda May:** Not sure she tells you everything, hon

 **Leo Fitz:** boobs

 **Leo Fitz:** her boobs

 **Melinda May:** How dare you talk about my daughter that way

 **Melinda May:** She is a paragon of innocence and virtue

 **Bobbi May:** Dunno I caught her watching porn once

 **Melinda May:** She’s grounded as soon as she gets home

 **Piper:** oh damn

 **Davis:** OH damn

Jade snatched the phone. “Uh, okay, not sure this conversation’s for you, kiddo.” She was doing the right thing by keeping Hope from lewd conversations, right? And the less she saw, the less she could tell Skye. Which meant explaining the less they’d corrupted the eight-year-old.

“What’s not for Hope? Is the restaurant shitting on me in the group chat again?” Skye stepped out, frowning. “This _really_ doesn’t match my sneakers.” The dress in question this time was now a blood red and more reminiscent of something one would see on an episode of _The Bachelor_ , not wear to high school homecoming. Almost as if made of silk, the spaghetti-strapped neckline dipped dangerously low before cinching out into a flowy skirt.

Jade had a feeling that if Skye wore _this_ dress, _Melinda_ and Bobbi would be fighting each other to get the privilege to kill Grant Ward. She raised an eyebrow, nodding to the exposed neckline. “Hey May, I think your neckline’s a little high.”

Two spots of color appeared high on Skye’s cheekbones. “Fuck off, Wong.”

“I’m just saying -!”

* * *

 

“This is the last one, right, Jade?” Hope was now fully sprawled out across the bench, jacket bunched up under her head in an attempt to take a nap. The both of them were watching the drama play out in the group chat, this time between Melinda and Bobbi threatening each other over who would get to kill Grant Ward first. So far, both of them had to agree -- the May matriarch had the upper hand. “We’ve been here for half an hour. I think the lady outside is giving us evil looks.”

“This is the last one,” Jade agreed tiredly. “Don’t worry, kid.” She still had her dress to get through, given, but at least she didn’t have anyone to impress. To be honest, she didn’t really know why she was going, other than the fact that it would be her first public school homecoming. “This is probably the one. If not, I’m leaving Skye to the sharks and we’ll go get mine, yeah?”

“I really think this is the one!” Skye called, having heard their commentary. “I really do!” She stepped out of the curtain, and Hope raised her head in a feeble attempt to look awake. Her jaw dropped.

“ _Dang,_ Skye!” The dress stood somewhere between plum and maroon, opting for a sleeveless halter neckline and cutting at an angle down her body, where it flared out into a classic skirt. Skye did a small twirl to reveal a small patch of skin at the small of her back. “Pick this one! And I’m not saying it just because I’m tired!”

“You really think so, Hope?” Skye turned in the mirror a little more than usual, grabbing her phone to take some selfies. “I really think this is it, too. Grant’ll love it.” Hope turned to Jade to get her own opinion, only to find the taller girl staring at Skye with an awed look on her face.

 _That_ was the kind of girl Jade wanted to take to prom. Already, she could imagine the small patch of back being warm against her palm as she put an arm around Skye’s waist. How her shoulders just _cut_ a line due to the halter top. And the girl had legs for _days_. Somewhere, the softness that she’d known as Skye had disappeared and had been replaced with this whole other girl that Jade didn’t know but appreciated nonetheless.

Not enough to forget Skye was _straight_ , of course. Jade sighed and blinked away the fantasy. She needed to work harder to keep her gay out of their friendship.

Hope poked her. “Why don’t you just ask her out?” she asked in a whisper. After making sure Skye was appropriately occupied with taking selfies and sending them to everyone she knew, Jade bent down to Hope’s level, her expression serious.

“To be honest, I’d love to,” she admitted. The truth hung heavily in her throat once she let it into the air -- this new knowledge that _yeah,_ she liked Skye, and no matter how many times you got a crush on someone, the strength of the realization never got any weaker -- and she swallowed it down. There’d be time to mope about it later. “But, Hope...” How _did_ you explain that you couldn’t just like whoever you wanted to an _eight_ year-old? “I don’t know if Skye likes me that way. I don’t know if she likes _people_ that way.”

“What do you mean?” Bless Mack for teaching his daughter an open mind.

“Well, some girls like boys.” Skye, for one. “And some girls like girls.” That was her. “I just don’t know who Skye likes yet, and I don’t want to ruin what we have if it turns out she doesn’t like girls. Or me. Like that. Like, um...you know -- you know how Mr. Phil clearly likes Miss May?”

Hope nodded sagely. “I still think he should ask her out. If not, someone else will. Miss May likes him, but she’s not gonna wait around forever.”  

“Right. Like that. But, uh, Miss May doesn’t know Mr. Phil likes her. And Mr. Phil doesn’t know Miss May likes him. And neither of them want to ask each other out in case it goes wrong, cause they’re scared they won’t talk to each other ever again.”

The younger girl was silent for a moment. “Adults are dumb, Jade. Really dumb.”

Jade chuckled. “Yeah. So that’s sort of how me and Skye are, except Skye might not even like girls, just boys. If she doesn’t like girls like that, why would she like me?”

Hope’s answering look suggested that Jade was even dumber than Phil and Melinda. “I’m pretty sure she likes you.”


	15. Dan Taat, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hope gets her recognizance, Skye questions herself, and Jade nearly sees green.

Jade watched as Skye chatted animatedly with the bakery boy at the counter of the food court, ignoring how Hope pointedly sipped her soda. “Stop staring, Jade,” she said finally, when her slurps were beginning to annoy the family a table over. “It’s getting kinda obvious.”

The older girl whipped her head around, a blush filling her cheeks. “M-m-me? Blushing?” She wasn’t staring at Skye. Not by a long shot. She was admiring the pastries in the case. Yeah. That was it. Pastries in the case. They all looked scrumptious, and had Skye just  _ laughed  _ at the dude’s joke? Had it even been funny? What was taking so long for the damn --

“Jade!”

Jade whipped her head back around. Skye had left the counter and returned to their table, sliding a freshly made  _ dan taat  _ in front of the each of them. “You good?” she asked. “Sorry I took so long. That was Tony Huang. We used to go to Chinese school together, until he punched some kid’s two front teeth out.”

“We’re okay,” Hope chirped, as Jade had opened her mouth without any sound emanating from it. “Jade was just looking at the pastries in the case.  _ Weren’t you,  _ Jade?” At that, Jade snapped her mouth shut and nodded. She’d never thought an eight-year-old would be her wingwoman, but apparently anything was possible.

“Looked like a lot of good stuff there,” she finally managed to get out. “You’ll have to show me all of it sometime.” Somehow, her facial muscles came together to manage a wink and a half-smirk, cause Skye to stop halfway to sitting down. Hm. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I, uh. Nah, of course not!” The wrapper to the  _ dan taat  _ slipped to the floor, and Skye hurriedly took the opportunity to hide her own blush. “I can make all of those, actually. My mom taught me when I was younger. We don’t serve ‘em at the restaurant ‘cause they take too much time to make and we don’t have a window display to put them in, plus if we did we’d have to open early and you know how my mom hates opening early --”

“Skye!” Hope’s look was more than pointed, and Skye snapped her mouth shut to find Jade holding back a snort. “Are you  _ done  _ telling Jade about all of the things you’ve made? I  _ think  _ she wants to go get a dress  _ today _ , you know.”

“I think it’s cute.” Skye choked on her first bite of tart. “My mom never really taught me how to make any of the foods she made for dinner.” The other girl actually looked offended at that, and Jade shrugged. “I guess she always assumed that I’d meet a nice Chinese boy who would teach me.” Of course,  _ that  _ plan had been ditched the moment she’d gotten kicked out of boarding school.

Hope looked between the two of them, hoping she wouldn’t have to fill in the blanks. No such luck. Did she have to do everything around here? “Okay, so, Skye, when do you want to teach Jade how to make pastries? You want to teach Jade how to make pastries, right?” She took another bite out of her  _ dan taat  _ to make her point.

“Oh. Right.” Skye shot Jade a nervous grin. “What do you say, Wong? An actual big and little activity?” She pulled out her phone, pretending to squint at it. “See, I’ve only got a couple of openings every week, it’ll be kind of hard to squeeze you in between recovering from Fitz’s tastings and slaving over Thoreau.”

“She means to say she’s  _ wide open _ ,” Hope deadpanned when Jade looked to reconsider her offer. “Trust me, you coming to hang out at least once a week at May’s would be so much better than watching Skye do her homework and eat scallion pancakes.” Jade still looked unsure, so Hope sighed. “How about Wednesday, Jade?”

“Wednesday sounds fine,” Skye and Jade said in unison. Hope shot her babysitter a look -- which one of them was supposed to be setting the dates again? “Wednesday sounds great,” Jade continued, shooting Skye her own grin. “Think you can start with teaching me how to make the  _ dan taat _ ?”

Skye nodded, still unsure as to how she’d gotten to this point. It was probably best to just keep nodding.

“Good.” Hope put down her soda can with a tiny  _ clang _ . “Can we go now? You guys said I could pick something, too!”

* * *

 

“Okay, so first, I want to try green,” Jade said as they trooped back into the store. “For some reason, I  _ didn’t  _ inherit the Asian gene where you look good in red. And it’s gotta be dark green. None of that neon green stuff. You think you’re up to the challenge, kiddos?” Skye raised an eyebrow at the categorization but nodded nonetheless. “Good. Break!”

The three of them scattered off to look through the rack. Hope stuck to Skye’s side this time, the both of them starting at opposite ends. “Hey, Hope?”

“Yeah, Skye? Can you help me get this dress?”

Skye lifted the aforementioned garment off with relative ease. “Thanks. For earlier. But, uh...you know I don’t like Jade that way, right? She’s just a friend. You can stop setting us up.” She appreciated the gesture. She really did. Hope had given her the opportunity to spend at least one afternoon a week hanging out with Jade, making food and getting hit with quips. But she didn’t  _ like  _ her like that. Skye could even say she appreciated the amount of attention Jade gave her -- for one, it wasn’t sleazy and egotistical, and second, it didn’t come off of Bobbi. It...it was nice.

It kind of made her feel like a fresh  _ dan taat  _ herself -- warm, bright, and generally like a child all over again. She’d be a fool not to like that feeling. But Jade? Like  _ Jade _ ? She couldn’t imagine it. And it wasn’t like reciprocation would be fair game, anyhow. As far as leagues went, Skye was pretty sure Jade Wong was a couple ahead of her, as mesmerizing and mysterious as she was.

“Well, why not?” Hope was already trying to pull off another dress on a hanger by the time Skye made her way through her mental gymnastics. “She’s nice and funny! And she’s really pretty.  _ And  _ you let make fun of you. You only let Bobbi, Miss May and Dad make fun of you, and even then you threaten to try and kill Bobbi.”

“You’re right,” Skye hummed. “Jade’s pretty, funny, and nice, kiddo. And I do let her make fun of me. But I just don’t like her like that, you get me? Some girls like girls, and that’s okay with me. I’m more than okay with that. I love it! But I’m not one of those girls, is all.” She held up a dress. “What do you think of this for Jade?”

Hope looked around, trying to find the taller girl. “I think she’s disappeared.”

“It’s easy to find her. Just yell something mildly insulting and she’ll come out of nowhere ready to fight you. Give it a shot.”

“What would I even yell?”

“Watch and learn, young Padawan.” When Hope didn’t look amused, Skye just sighed. “I got this. JADE WONG IS A FAKE CHINESE AND THINKS FRIED RICE IS PRIME CHINESE FOOD!”

“ExCUSE ME, I’M FULL CHINESE AND I CAN DAMN WELL WHACK YOU WITH MY FAMILY TREE TO PROVE IT -- oh, come on!” Jade had emerged half-dressed from the fitting room, hopping in a pair of tailored pants, to deliver her tirade. “I fell for this last week!”

“The funniest thing is that you fell for it a second time, Wong,” Skye giggled. “Anyways, Hope and I found you some dresses. Go try them on in all of your fake Chinese glory,” Jade just shot her a sharp glare before snatching up the dresses and marching to the fitting room. “I still can’t believe you think fried rice is prime Chinese food!”

* * *

 

“And so it begins,” Hope announced dramatically when the curtain shifted. “Jade Wong’s homecoming dress, take one.” She shot Skye a meaningful look. “Hopefully not one of fifteen million.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe, so I don’t think it’s going to be a total hole in one, Hope,” Jade stepped gingerly out of the changing stall, the top half of her dress clinging tightly to her body. Golden threading ran down her sleeves and through the majority of the dress, including two wide gold bands at the bodice and waist before snaking their way through a flowing skirt. “I  _ also  _ think my back sweat’s developed its own back sweat.”

Skye and Hope could only goggle. “Hey, dragon lady,” Skye said at last. “Where’s your cane? You leave it with your mythical steed?”

Jade shot her a withering look in return. “You only  _ wish  _ you knew where my cane was, Wong.”

* * *

 

“Jade’s homecoming dress, take two!” Hope clapped loudly before checking the group chat once more. “Jade, Miss May says that she wants that dress to wear during Asian St. Patrick’s day. She wears a seven, whatever that means.”

“It means that Miss May has a rockin’ bod, and I’d probably kill to be in her shape at her age.” Jade stepped out in her next dress, and both girls were stunned into a silence even worse than before. “This is bad, isn’t it? It makes me feel like a fuckin’ old Irish lady. Had enough of those when I went to boarding school.” She did an exaggerated curtsey. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!”

There were a couple more seconds of stony silence before Skye finally lost it, bursting into laughter. “There’s a  _ bow _ !” she guffawed, slapping her leg not unlike that of an old country bumpkin. “There’s a fucking  _ bow _ ! I can’t believe it, a  _ bow _ ...” Her laughter brought her to the nearest bench, and she collapsed on it, still holding her stomach. “Hope, take a picture for the...for the group chat, I’m sorry, Jade, it’s just -- there’s a  _ bow _ !”

She’d never met someone over the age of eleven that still wore bows. Seeing the almighty Jade Wong wear one was a jarring image she’d never thought she’d get to see. (And now that she  _ was  _ seeing it, it was fucking hilarious.)

Jade stared at herself in the mirror for a long while, seemingly contemplating her life decisions. Hope just stared at Skye as if she’d declared aliens existed and had somehow taken over Piper and Davis’ bodies. 

Finally, Jade snorted. “Goddamn. I’m going to find something black.”

* * *

 

“Why are the angles of this dress so  _ sharp _ ?”

Skye and Hope exchanged equal looks of confusion before the latter went back to playing Candy Crush. The former turned back to her conversation with Kaya.

**Clouds:** i invited her to make pastries at may’s every week kay what do i do h e l p

**Kay:** wow smol may’s got game who woulda thought

**Clouds:** i am NOT trying to game her! why haven’t i invited grant ward to come make pastries at may’s yet!

**Kay:** ...why don’t you ask him then

**Clouds:** what if he thinks it’s weird? you don’t just ask the boy you like to come make PASTRIES. let alone CHINESE pastries

**Kay:** and you ask the girl you like to do it?

**Clouds:** i do NOT like jade

**Clouds:** we’re friends

**Clouds:** /just/ friends

**Clouds:** idk why people keep asking me if i like jade

**Clouds:** first hope and now you

**Kay:** wait lil hope asked you if you liked jade?

**Kay:** smol hope

**Kay:** who’s like, eight

**Kay:** and she can sense the gay

**Clouds:** there is no gay. not for me

**Clouds:** i have already said this

**Kay:** aight

**Kay:** but you’re dress shopping with her

**Kay:** and you can’t tell me you haven’t seen her serve some Looks

“I hate it,” Jade stepped out of the stall, picking at her shoulder. “I feel like the modern version of Breaking Dawn and Christina Perri.” The dress in question this time had a soft black mesh top, extending down long sleeves embroidered with similarly-colored flowers. It cut all the way down towards Jade's waist, where a white skirt flared sharply out, more black flowers lining the hem.

“I think your emo phase called,” Skye snarked. “News flash: it wants its clothing back.” Jade pretended to hiss at her in true vampire fashion, causing Hope to look up and roll her eyes before turning back once more to her game.

“You guys are losers.”

“Just remember which one of us is buying you things later, kid.”

* * *

 

“Skye?”

“What's up, Hope? You need another soda or something?”

“Can you tell my daddy I love him? I don't think I'm gonna make it. But another soda would be nice.” Skye rolled her eyes and handed Hope a five-dollar bill. “Thanks, Skye!” The smaller Mackenzie skipped out of the changing room, leaving Skye alone with Jade.

“Okay, how's this?”

Skye's mouth went dry when Jade stepped out of the stall. The most recent dress in question was made entirely of sparkles and was set in deep a cut down to her stomach, a small mesh triangle attempting to preserve some modesty. Jade did a small twirl, the plain black skirt lifting a little, and it was only then that Skye caught the wide expanse of skin the dress was leaving in the back.

Why were her cheeks burning...?

“I'm gonna take that as a sign you like it,” Jade teased. “I've never stunned a girl into silence. This is good.”

“It...I...” God, the temperature was hot in there. This wasn't fair. Jade was too pretty. Skye's eyes involuntarily dipped down the cut of the dress before zooming back up and down the sharp line of Jade's shoulders. This wasn't fair. There was so much skin. And it was probably warm and soft and wow, did she want to touch it. But mainly, Jade was just pretty.

Where had _that_ come from?

“Skye?”

“I think your neckline's a little too high, Wong,” Skye finally croaked out when her brain was able to formulate words once more. Jade snorted loudly.

“You're lucky I don't put a pride flag up your ass. Now, I'm gonna change into this cute suit I bought, and you're gonna change into the dress you bought, okay?”

Following commands wasn't really Skye's forte at the moment. She'd just been accosted by a pretty girl, okay? “...wha?” Jade sighed and handed Skye the bag sitting next to her.

“Change.” A few minutes later, Skye was shaking her hair out of her ponytail to see Jade shrugging on a suit jacket that cinched in at her waist. If Skye’s mouth had gone dry at the sight of Jade in the dress, the suit silently stole the breath out of her lungs. How did anyone make a suit look so good? Well, she amended silently, her mom could do it. You didn’t become a feared figure of the Chinese mafia without rocking a suit or two.

“Remind me why I’m in this dress again?” she asked, if only to take the attention off of the fact that they’d been staring at each other in absolute silence. “I know you’ve never been to homecoming, Wong, but typically we take the photos the night  _ of _ , not in the dressing room.”

Jade just fiddled with her phone. “When was the last time you danced with a dude?” She hoped she wasn’t reaching, asking Skye to dance with her. The whole purpose of the shopping trip had been to establish their boundaries as a big and little, not to blur them with her feelings. Jade hated feeling like she was walking on eggshells and not knowing how her every move would be reciprocated. She hadn’t felt this taut in a long time -- almost not ever, dare she say.

For her sake, she hoped Skye figured herself out soon. She couldn’t take much more of getting too close to the girl.

“I can dance,” Skye said in a half strangled voice. “I...I mean, I haven’t danced with anyone since like, seventh grade, but I can dance with a boy.” Still, she stepped closer to Jade when the other girl started up a slow song, setting her phone on the bench speaker up. “Asking me to dance, Wong?”

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Jade braced herself as the opening chords began to play, waiting for Skye to step back with the same panicked look in her eyes she’d seen in so many other girls. Waited for the  _ look, you’re sweet and all, but I just...you know that... _ It would be rejection, plain and simple, regardless if Skye was straight or not. “I mean. If it’s not too awkward, I mean. You don’t have to, we can just pretend this never happened --”

“Teach me to slow dance, Wong,” And just like that, Jade had a hand on Skye’s shoulder and another around her waist. Her skin was every bit as soft as she thought it’d be, she noted. And a tiny bit warmer. It already seemed like her fingers had set up a home there, though, and had no intention of leaving.

_ You’re in my arms _

_ And all the world is gone  _

_ The music playing on for only two _

_ So close together _

_ And when I’m with you _

_ So close to feeling alive _

Skye stepped back, bringing Jade with her; Jade stepped sideways. A couple of repetitions had them dancing in a small circle around the dressing room. Lights dimmed in their heads, the carpet turned to shiny hardwood, and the music seemed to echo around their ears instead of out of a single source point.

_ So close to reaching  _

_ That famous happy ending _

_ Almost believing _

_ This one’s not pretend _

_ And now you’re beside me _

“And look how far we’ve come...” The words slipped past Jade’s lips like water. Almost instantly, she wanted to snatch them back and stuff them into her mouth. She and Skye hadn’t gotten anywhere. They barely knew each other, much less enough to marvel on the progress on their friendship. And here she was, putting herself out on the line for what? An ever-decreasing chance? Thanks, but no thanks.

Skye just grinned. “So close, yet so far.” The two of them were pressed a little too closely together, Jade with her eyes closed and Skye trying to diagnose the odd warm feeling in her stomach. “Guess you were an Enchanted girl when you were younger.”

“Idina Menzel was pretty,” Jade answered with a small scoff, but smiled and twirled Skye anyways.

_ Oh how could I face the faceless days _

_ If I should lose you now? _

Hope, soda in hand, peeked back into the dressing room to see Skye and Jade slowly swaying in the middle of the dressing room, pops of color in the otherwise bland atmosphere. She couldn’t understand why Skye was so intent on not admitting she liked Jade. Especially when she was looking at the taller girl like she had the ability to produce scallion pancakes on command.

And with Jade looking at Skye, stoically remaining in the friendzone? What was  _ up  _ with these two?

She gave them the benefit of the doubt until the end of the song before stepping into the room, cracking the tab of her soda loudly. Skye and Jade jumped apart, both of them with burning cheeks.

“I’m just gonna -- yeah, I’m gonna -- change,” Skye said lamely, all but dashing into the stall. Jade did the same, and the comfortable silence that had been in the room before had suddenly turned heavy and awkward. Both girls emerged from the stall, purchases in hand, determined not to look at each other.

“Let’s go pay,” Jade said. “And, uh....Hope, it’ll be your turn, and we can all go get ice cream, yeah?”

* * *

 

“Come on, let’s see it!” Jade called some time later. “You can’t hide in there forever, kiddo. We’ll break down the door eventually.”

Hope poked her head out of the door, her hair done in a messy bun and eyes alight. “Guys. I love it!” A white lace ruffle spread over her shoulders and lead to a black-and-white polka dotted boy wrapped around the waist before going into a similar skirt. “I LOVE THIS BOW.”

The excitement was slowly sliding off of Skye and Jade’s faces, turning them into grimaces instead. Hope, uncaring of their reactions, danced back into the dressing room to take pictures. “We gotta call child protective services,” Jade whispered to Skye, breaking the silence that had been hanging between them ever since they’d left the previous dressing room. “I don’t think Mack’s raising his kid right.”

Skye turned and looked at her. Their last encounter was still weighing on her mind, and she’d spent the whole walk (and search) over trying to figure out what the dance had meant. She’d liked it. That was no question. But had she liked it because someone’d chosen to lavish attention on her (which was what was more likely) or had it been because...because...

Because...

“Skye?”

This wasn’t the time. “Amen,” she echoed, drained. “Who the fuck loves bows on their waists?”

* * *

 

The second dress was simpler -- a straight, plum-colored shift dress with a lace button-back and a small leather belt around the middle. Skye’d picked it out because it’d been the best compromise she could get with Hope over some sort of cinched waist.

“Wow, Hope, lookin’ classy!” Jade called. “You look like you’re about to go to a wedding.”

“Thanks, Jade! Guess what?”

“What’s up?”

Hope excitedly stuck her hands in her dress with a manic grin. “It has  _ pockets! _ ” 

**Bobbi May:** mom wants to know if jade’s staying for dinner

**Bobbi May:** skye i know you’re not fucking talking to me for some stupid reason but mom wants to know if jade’s staying for dinner

**Bobbi May:** skye come on

**Melinda May:** skye, is jade staying for dinner?

**Skye May:** hang on, mom

“Hey,” Skye nudged Jade, who was scrolling through her phone. “You wanna come for dinner?” Jade had to stare at her for a long time, trying to force her brain from the idea that Skye was asking her for a dinner date. “Mom’s making...well, I’m not sure what she’ll make, but it’ll probably be something you like, since apparently y’all know each other.”

Jade forced herself to nod. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll, uh...I’ll be there. I love your mom’s cooking. Any chance she can make the shrimp? It’s been forever and a half.”

**Skye May:** jade says she’s coming for dinner and she wants to know if you’ll make the shrimp mom

**Melinda May:** tell her i’ll make the shrimp

**Melinda May:** skye mack wants to know why you put her in a romper

**Melinda May:** skye my daughter is EIGHT she should NOT be in a romper that is meant for thirteen year olds

**Melinda May:** please don’t buy that for her i know you’re her babysitter but you’re supposed to do things behind my back like taking her to see rated r movies and to get ice cream not buying her rompers

**Alphonso Mackenzie:** but dad it has POCKETS!!!!

**Melinda May:** hope no you’re not getting the romper

* * *

 

“I think I finally understand Hope when she was being dramatic earlier,” Jade groaned, standing. There was a loud  _ crack _ . “My lower back is killing me.” Skye kept back her grin as the other girl hobbled around the dressing room, clutching said part. “I must confess, so are my knees.”

A gasp sounded within the dressing room. “It’s PERFECT!” Skye and Jade exchanged looks. What would await them this time? A series of bows? A multitude of pockets? More rompers? (They’d let Hope do her own shopping. It was a decision they were regretting right about then.) Hope ran out of the dressing room. “Can I get this one? Pleeeeeease?”

Hope’s dress was very similar to one of the dresses Skye had tried on before: red, yellow and blue flowers bloomed over the top and skirt, set against a white background and flowing oh-so-innocently. A violet belt cinched the waist, and while there was a bow, both of them decided that they could forgive it. The colors sat perfectly against Hope’s skin and were the narrow to her bushy hair, which she’d pulled into a messy ponytail. 

“You know, I don’t think your dad will kill me for this one,” Skye hummed. “Yeah. Let’s get it. I think it’s even good enough for you to come take pictures with us on homecoming night.” Hope fist-pumped the air. Of course, Skye had planned on letting Hope take pictures with them anyways -- but at least now, she’d be decked out to the tens.

“Can we be flower girls together?”

Skye snorted. “Heckin’ yeah, Hope. If we both wear those dresses I’ll make your dad take us out to  _ tea _ . And not that stuff in the dining room, either,” she laughs, ruffling Hope’s hair. “Real darn tea.” Hope deserved to know her experiences, she believed. To see and understand the world like her mom had done for her when she was little.

Not that she was faulting Mack for his parenting. Not at all. She was pretty sure Mack was a better parent than Skye and...whoever she chose to end up with combined.

“Can Bobbi come, too? And Miss May and Mister Phil?”

Skye looked at her, swallowing. “I’m sure none of them would miss it for the world, kiddo.” She and Bobbi would just have to slide through the fact that they still hadn’t spoken to each other, was all. No biggie.

And whether Phil and May would manage to survive a high tea date? She’d have to make sure Piper and Davis brought popcorn. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it, do feel free to leave something! I'm also typosandteabags on tumblr if you wanna come hit me up


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